Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke
Charles Stuart Calverley (18311884)Wanderers
A
My dog and I together,
We mark’d a chaise, by two bright bays
Slow-moved along the heather:
And gold upon their blinkers;
And by their side an ass I spied;
It was a travelling tinker’s.
Such things are not in my way:
I turn’d me to the tinker, who
Was loafing down a by-way:
Was all I got in answer,
As on he trudged: I rightly judged
The stare said, “Where I can, sir.”
Of ’bacco; he acceded;
He grew communicative too,
(A pipe was all he needed,)
Till of the tinker’s life, I think,
I knew as much as he did.
For any job I’m willing;
Take here and there a dusty brown,
And here and there a shilling.
I’ve rings for buddin’ Sally
That sparkle like those eyes of her’n,
I’ve liquor for the valet.
I hide by th’ squire’s covers;
I teach the sweet young housemaids what’s
The art of trapping lovers.
Have got me into messes:
I’ve seen the sky through prison bars,
I’ve torn up prison dresses:
With envy at the swallows
That through the window slid, and danced
(Quite happy) round the gallows;
My face nor care a stiver,
For trades are brisk and trades are slow,
But mine goes on for ever.”
Then I, “The sun hath slipt behind the hill,
And my aunt Vivian dines at half-past six.”
So in all love we parted; I to the Hall,
They to the village. It was noised next noon
That chickens had been miss’d at Syllabub Farm.