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 THE SONG 
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 THE SONG OF THE 
 PLOW : ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 BEING THE ENGLISH CHRONICLE 
 
 BY MAURICE HEWLETT 
 
 LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
 
 London : ff^//liam Heinemann, igid.
 
 
 ^be 2)et)icatton to lenglan^ long bivibe^ 
 
 now mabe one 
 
 HERE'S of your children, O Mother dear, 
 Here's of your dead, our brothers and 
 sons ; 
 Norman and Enghsh, they He there 
 
 Facing in death the tyrant's guns ; 
 
 Enghsh marrow and Norman blood 5 
 
 Welded against the horded Huns — 
 
 One house, one hope, one brotherhood. 
 Patient hand clasping hand of pride, 
 Fronting one barrier to the flood ; 
 
 And happy so if they have died 10 
 
 Staining with life-blood that old wound. 
 Stopping that gaping rent and wide 
 
 'Twixt men and masters of the ground, 
 That old unquencht unending strife 
 'Twixt serf and despot, free and bond 15 
 
 Ev'n as a man by his dead wife. 
 
 8607S9
 
 DEDICATION TO ENGLAND 
 
 Stabbed by his loneliness and pain, 
 
 Will stroke the handle of the knife 
 Whose reddened steel makes his love plain, 
 
 And read in every bitter pang 20 
 
 Witness of her, and own a gain, 
 In smarting tear and salt blood-tang 
 
 That speak to him of his dear dead — 
 
 So, England, when the trumpets rang 
 And young men stream'd to face the dread 25 
 
 Of rocking battle, anguish wove 
 
 A mist of glory for my head, 
 Seeing you transfigured, and our love 
 
 A living spirit, and our men 
 
 One kindred ! Is not this enough 30 
 
 Of victory to fire the pen 
 
 Of him who saw your ravaged heart 
 
 Laid bare to scorn, and loved you then 
 As never yet ; and felt tears start 
 
 Which, gushing up from hidden springs 35 
 
 Deeply within his inmost part. 
 Floated him high o'er mortal things, 
 
 To see from evil lift the good, 
 
 And wait the flickering of the wings 
 Of man immortally renewed, 40 
 
 Lord of a rid and garnisht earth. 
 
 Swept with a besom dipt in blood ? 
 
 VI
 
 PREFACE 
 
 THIS poem, which a sense of decorum, 
 but not common sense, forbade me to 
 call T^he Hodgiad^ was conceived some 
 ten years ago, at a time, that is, when I 
 was closely in touch with the hero of it. 
 I have been at work upon it or concerned 
 about it ever since. Its subject is as old 
 as England, but the point of view, I think, 
 is novel ; therefore I offer a few words of 
 explanation of its scope. It will be seen by 
 any one who chooses to reflect upon it that this 
 country holds two classes of persons, a governing 
 class, and a governed class. Herein it does not 
 differ perhaps from a good many other undemo- 
 cratic states ; but it differs remarkably in this, 
 that with us the governing and the governed 
 classes are two separate nations. By race the 
 governed are British with a strong English 
 mixture of blood ; the governing class is by race 
 even now preponderatingly Latin-French with a 
 Scandinavian admixture : by tradition, breeding, 
 and education it is entirely so. All the apparatus, 
 all the science, all the circumstance of govern- 
 
 vii
 
 ■he 
 trgumettt 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 ment are still Norman. It may be that the 
 governed race has been granted, between 1832 
 and 1883, an increasing share in government. 
 It has been granted it, but has not taken it up. 
 Now, speaking generally, this Song of the Plow 
 is a history of the governed race from the date 
 of the Norman Conquest, that successful raid 
 made a conquest by the acquiescence of the 
 raided, when foreigners acquired an ascendancy 
 which they have never yet dropped. Not only 
 so, but they have never yet ceased to be foreign 
 to the race which they rule. The tale, in its 
 parts, may be the stuff for prose ; in its broad 
 outhnes, in its masses of Hghts and darks, it is 
 a highly poetical subject. In its process of 
 obstinate, fluctuating conflict between privilege 
 and custom, between instinct to rule and instinct 
 to be free, it is an epic subject, perhaps the only 
 real one left. To put it in Aristotle's manner, 
 when he hit off The Odyssey in three lines — 
 
 A certain man^ being in bondage to a proud 
 Conqueror^ maintained his customs^ nourisht his 
 virtues^ obeyed his tyrants^ and at the end of 
 a thousand years found himsef worse of than he 
 was in the beginning of his servitude. He then 
 lifted his head, lookt his master in the face, and his 
 chains fell off him. 
 That is succinctly the Argument of this Poem. 
 
 viii
 
 PREFACE 
 
 Those words were written in 191 3, before 
 the horror and menace of German despotry were 
 guessed by the world of men. As for the War, 
 and our part in it, it is yet too early to do more 
 than dream what the upshot for humanity may 
 be ; but of some things done, already historical, 
 I have written in the Envoy to this poem, and 
 other things, which my heart bids me hope for, 
 I have prefigured. Nothing in history had 
 prepared us for the uprising of our Peasantry so 
 soon as the issue was plain : it was wonderful 
 that they rose, still more wonderful that they 
 should have seen what was really at stake. By 
 those two acts they declared themselves at once 
 responsible citizens and the equals of their 
 masters. My hope is that their masters may 
 not forget, since they themselves certainly will 
 not. If a war which has stultified the very 
 Idea of Manhood has nevertheless made the 
 British and their governors one people, it is 
 worth the horror and the shame; and our sons' 
 sons may bless the Germans unawares. 
 
 IX
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Prelude . 
 
 The Man on the Hill 
 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 Book I. 
 
 The Star of Senlac . 
 
 
 
 
 • 17 
 
 II. 
 
 Curtmantle 
 
 
 
 
 • 31 
 
 III. 
 
 Bonaccord 
 
 
 
 
 • 43 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Black Prince . 
 
 
 
 
 . 59 
 
 V. 
 
 Ragged Staves . 
 
 
 
 
 ■ 77 
 
 VI. 
 
 Drenched Roses 
 
 
 
 
 • 93 
 
 VII. 
 
 The Despots . 
 
 
 
 
 107 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Fall of the Kings 
 
 
 
 
 . 127 
 
 IX. 
 
 Strong Deliverer 
 
 
 
 
 143 
 
 X. 
 
 The Last Theft 
 
 
 
 
 155 
 
 XI. 
 
 Waterloo and Peterloo 
 
 
 
 
 171 
 
 XII. 
 
 The Seething . 
 
 
 
 
 185 
 
 Envoy : 
 
 New Domesday . 
 
 
 
 
 205 
 
 Notes . 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 
 
 • 
 
 223 
 
 XI
 
 PRELUDE 
 
 THE MAN ON THE HILL 
 
 B
 
 ^ain and 
 he Plow. 
 
 I 
 
 THE MAN ON THE HILL 
 
 SING the Man, I sing the Plow 
 Ten centuries at work, and Thee, 
 England, whom men not christen'd now 
 May live to call Home of the Free. 
 
 Enslav'd, back-broken, driv'n afield, 5 
 
 Ask him I sing how this may be, 
 Him that the slipping share must wield. 
 
 And wring his brow that others eat, 
 
 And see them fatten on his yield, 
 And by his pain derive their meat : 10 
 
 Hodge, hireling for a thousand years. 
 
 To whom the burden and the heat 
 To reap in sweat the sown in tears 
 
 Must be, whatever else betide ; 
 
 Pinned to his rood thro' hopes and fears 15 
 Till they he served, unsatisfied 
 
 With having all but that, took care 
 
 To get that too — Hodge crucified. 
 Like Him Who on His rood hung bare 
 
 Of those his muted sons of pain, 20 
 
 Dumb child of suffering and to spare, 
 
 3
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 I sing the grumbled low refrain, 
 
 The broken heartstrings' undertones 
 Which thro' the clash and gallant strain 
 
 Of warring legions, thro' the groans 25 
 
 Of them they war on, thro' the blent 
 Organs and trumpets, creaks and drones 
 
 The lordings' way to tournament, 
 To love of women, pride of men, 
 To crowning or to parliament. 30 
 
 Here's homespun for your handselling then, 
 You who have fingers for such thrums : 
 Let the dark angel teach my pen 
 
 The underchant which all the drums 
 
 That go before to cry our lord 35 
 
 Can never stifle, that which comes 
 
 A bourdon from the tilth and sward, 
 Not to be quencht, outshrilled in vain 
 By clarion trumpet or bare sword — 
 
 Nay, but like constancy of rain, 40 
 
 Heard thro' the thunder of the guns 
 Adown the hillside, o'er the plain, 
 
 Across the river. Ah, patient ones. 
 They heard it then, they know it now ; 
 Say, shall it speak in vain their sons, 45 
 
 The creaking of thy driven plow ? 
 O to whom all my song must be 
 If it would thrive, receive it Thou, 
 
 This epic of an agony ! 
 
 4
 
 THE MAN ON THE HILL 
 
 T'he shepherd upon a hill he sat, 50 
 
 He had his tabard and his hat. 
 
 His tarbox, his pipe and jlagat. 
 
 And his name was called Jolly Wat ; 
 
 For he was a good herd's boy, TJt hoy 1 
 
 For in his pipe he made such joy. 5 5 
 
 Under the sun on the gray hill, 
 
 At breakfast campt behind the hedge, 
 
 There ate he, there eats he still 
 Bread and bacon on the knife's edge. 
 
 Blow the wind chill, be sky of lead, 60 
 
 Or let the sun burn o'er the ridge. 
 Or be the cloudy fleeces spread. 
 
 Or let rain drive, or snow come dry 
 
 What time the blackthorn flower is shed 
 Like puffs of smoke on the blue sky — 65 
 
 There sits he now as he sat then 
 
 And watches how the year goes by. 
 And sees the world God made for men 
 
 As little for them as it was 
 
 In those old days of Cesar's when 70 
 
 Lord Christ came riding on an ass. 
 
 Borrowed from out some friendly stall. 
 
 Or lifted from the common grass 
 And set to this new festival. 
 
 So then to work, with heavy foot, 75 
 
 To rouse his horses with a call ;
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 And slow as they he puts them to 't, 
 To hail the plow on the stony down 
 Thro' marl and flint, thro' stock and root, 
 
 Where the rooks cloud the strip of brown go 
 And querulous peewits wheel and flock : 
 Behold them on the sky-line thrown 
 
 Like giant shapes of riven rock, 
 
 He and his team on the world's rim 
 Creeping like the hands of a clock. 85 
 
 Or in wet meadows plashy and dim 
 
 When winter winds blow shrill and keen, 
 See him bank up the warp and swim 
 
 The eddying water over the green ; 
 
 Or follow up the hill the sheep 90 
 
 To where the kestrels soar and lean, 
 
 And from her form the hare doth leap 
 Quick and short, and lightly flies 
 Before him up the grassy steep 
 
 Where cloakt and crookt he climbs. His eyes, 95 
 Seeing all things, and seeking none, 
 Are very patient and weather-wise. 
 
 The clearest eyesight under the sun 
 He has, and holds the ancient way, 
 The way his forefathers have gone, 100 
 
 And deems himself as wise as they. 
 
 TheDafs Afield at five, nuncheon at nine 
 Round. Under the hedge, and at mid-day
 
 I05 
 
 THE MAN ON THE HILL 
 
 Under the hedge to sit and dine ; 
 
 And then to work until the hour 
 
 Bid him to slacken hand and line, 
 Crying him from the gray church tower 
 
 As it hath cried for a thousand year, 
 
 Once for Mary, of maids the flower, 
 And now for tea and homely cheer. no 
 
 So down the borstal, into the road. 
 
 Home with beasts and jingling gear. 
 By park of lord and house of God, 
 
 Betwixt the hedgerows, by the farm, 
 
 By flowering garth, afoot and aplod 115 
 
 By the white cottages thatcht and warm. 
 
 To home of wife and child comes he, 
 
 Bent in back and weary of arm, 
 To such good rest as his may be. 
 
 And so week out till Sunday come, 120 
 
 And then to church and reverie ; 
 And tho' they preach the gods of Rome, 
 
 And tho' great Christopher still bestride 
 
 The flooded ford, and thro' the gloom 
 The Lord upon his shoulder ride 125 
 
 In likeness of a young child lost ; 
 
 And tho' mass-music sob and chide 
 Of God within the blameless Host, 
 
 And far-off twinkling candles name 
 
 The presence of the Holy Ghost — 130 
 
 His homely God is still the same, 
 
 7
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 With earth-clots dinging to his flanks : 
 
 A God of cloud instead of flame, 
 A God for wonder, not for thanks ; 
 
 A shrouded bulk inscrutable, 135 
 
 Who chooses few and slays by ranks 
 The toilers ; who makes corn to swell 
 
 Or bids it wither in the blade ; 
 
 Who bides his time and will not tell 
 Whether a man should be afraid 140 
 
 To slake his need, or bold to slake 
 
 That which he hath with what is laid 
 Before him, woman, beer, or cake 
 
 Of currant bread upon a platter. 
 
 So Hodge like all of us will make 145 
 
 In his own image God, half satyr 
 
 And half an old man masterful — 
 
 As in the old days, so in the latter, 
 Despite pulpit and Sunday school. 
 
 Thereafter work for fork and knife, 150 
 
 A time to get one's belly full. 
 And sleep for him beside his wife 
 
 In simple easeful fellowship — 
 
 A sleep, a dream, the law of life 
 That draws man's lip to woman's lip. 155 
 
 For thus it is that we are gotten 
 
 And mouths are made for bite and sip. 
 And scion struck ere stock be rotten. 
 
 And so the day is gone with speed, 
 
 8
 
 THE MAN ON THE HILL 
 
 Hodge at his ease, good fish well shotten, i6o 
 A holy day for the holy deed. 
 
 Tear's This is the year's round he must go 
 
 Round. 'Pq make and then to win the seed : 
 
 In winter to sow and in March to hoe, 
 
 Michaelmas plowing, Epiphany sheep ; 165 
 Come June there is the grass to mow. 
 At Lammas all the vill must reap. 
 
 From dawn to dusk, from Easter to Lent 
 Here are the laws that he must keep : 
 Out and home goes he, back-bent, 170 
 
 Heavy, patient, slow, as of old 
 Father, granfer, ancestor went 
 O'er Sussex weald and Yorkshire wold. 
 
 The O what see you from your gray hill ? 
 
 Outlook. 'j^j^g g^j^ -g 1q^^ ^j^e air all gold, 175 
 
 Warm lies the slumbrous land and still. 
 I see the river with deep and shallow, 
 I see the ford, I hear the mill ; 
 
 I see the cattle upon the fallow ; 
 
 And there the manor half in trees, 180 
 
 And there the church and the acre hallow 
 
 Where lie your dead in their feretories 
 Of clay and dust and crumble of peat. 
 With a stone or two to their memories : 
 
 Ycur dead who with their sweat kept sweet 185 
 
 9
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 This heritage of gray and green, 
 This England now the richer for it. 
 
 I see the yews and the thatch between, 
 
 The smoke that tells of cottage and hearth, 
 And all as it has ever been 190 
 
 From the beginning on this old earth. 
 And so it is even as it was 
 From the beginning in Hodge's garth, 
 
 While kings and statesmen flaunt and pass, 
 Kings and lords and knights of the shire, 195 
 Bishops in lawn (rare flesh to be grass !), 
 
 Priest and schoolman, clerk and esquire ; 
 Danes and Normans and Scottishmen, 
 Frenchmen, Brunswickers, son after sire, 199 
 
 They come and conquer, they rufBe and reign. 
 They rule, they ride, they spend, they grudge. 
 They bicker their threescore years and ten. 
 
 They slay, and thieve, and go ; but Hodge 
 The Englishman stoops to fork and flail, 
 And serves Saint Use, and will not budge, 205 
 
 But drives the furrow and fills the pail. 
 Raining sweat lest the land go dry : 
 He sees his masters, he gives them hail 
 
 With hand to forelock as they ride by — 
 
 They that eat what he doth bake, 210 
 
 They that hold what he must buy. 
 
 They that spend what he doth make. 
 They that are rich by other men's toil ; 
 
 10
 
 THE MAN ON THE HILL 
 
 They of the sword and he of the rake, 
 
 The lords of the land, the son of the soil ! 215 
 O Christ, the Patron of the Poor, 
 Thou Who didst suffer harlot's oil 
 
 Anoint Thy feet, O narrow Door ! 
 Thou Who didst sanctify our dearth 
 With bitter pain and anguish sore, 220 
 
 A barefoot King held nothing worth — 
 Here's misery for Thy chrism to mend : 
 A thousand years to plow the earth, 
 
 And be worse off at journey's end ! 
 
 Question. Thou mute and patient sojourner 225 
 
 (So let us ask him, being his friend), 
 
 From what dim nation, by what spur 
 Cam'st thou to serve this long duress ? 
 Whence came your fathers, hoping here 
 
 To win the land and to possess, 230 
 
 And gained you for your broad domain 
 A hireling's hire and wretchedness 
 
 After ten centuries of pain ? 
 
 Pedigree. " No man Can tell how old my stock. 
 
 My sires were here before the grain ; 235 
 
 They reared that temple of gray rock 
 Which in a hollow of the hills 
 Seemeth our constancy to mock. 
 So little hurt crude usage skills 
 
 1 1
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 To it, so much to mortal men. 240 
 
 They shap't the mist-pool where distils 
 The blessed dew ; they died and then 
 
 They served their dead with barrow and mound. 
 
 With wattled burghs on dun and pen 
 They made this Albion holy ground, 245 
 
 Naming the mountains, pen and dun, 
 
 Naming the waters. First, they found 
 The lovely service of the sun. 
 
 Then bowed their backs to Roman goads 
 
 From sea to sea the Wall to run ; 250 
 
 The furrows of the long white roads 
 
 Are of their driven husbandry : 
 
 We bruise their dust still with our loads. 
 Then came the English oversea. 
 
 Of onset wilder than was Rome's, 255 
 
 And slew or made our men unfree, 
 But led our women to their homes 
 
 To serve their needs of board and bed, 
 
 And get them theows — and so it comes 
 That I am sprung unwarranted 260 
 
 By priest or book or marriage-line ; 
 
 Yet south and north my folk are spread 
 From Thames' mouth to the wells of Tyne. 
 
 They moil aland like busy ants 
 
 With pick and pack, and make no sign, 265 
 To sow and garner for the wants 
 
 Of man and beast. This is their hire, 
 
 12
 
 275 
 
 THE MAN ON THE HILL 
 
 To cling about their ancient haunts 
 Tho' son be poorer than his sire. 
 
 Now therefore you shall understand 270 
 
 My folk yet people every shire 
 From Lizard to Northumberland. 
 
 They till the levels of the east, 
 
 Where blown grass borders the sea-strand, 
 And in the dunes for man and beast 
 
 They win their fodder. They make fat 
 
 The lean, themselves they profit least ; 
 But this is not to wonder at. 
 
 Where Ouse and Trent and Humber coil 
 
 'Twixt reedy marsh and meadow-flat, 280 
 
 Where Thames grows turbid with the moil 
 
 Of London's pool and London's mart, 
 
 They bank the water into soil, 
 And spread the dung and lead the cart. 
 
 Find you them in the stormy west 285 
 
 Where from long Cleator to the Start 
 The land meets ocean, crest with crest. 
 
 Throwing her rocky bastions up : 
 
 There is my kindred's upland nest 
 Who lead their sheep for bite and sup 290 
 
 By mountain path and waterfall 
 
 To where the grass grows in a cup 
 Of rearing cliff and craggy wall. 
 
 And thence the upland rivers race 
 
 A nobler course ; thence best of all 295 
 
 13
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Flings Severn down, to earn her grace 
 There where she broadens to the main 
 And giveth Bristol pride of place. 
 
 Go seek my kith on hill and plain, 
 
 Whether in Cumberland's deep dales, 300 
 
 In York's dark moors or Lincoln's fen, 
 
 In Westmorland's hill-shadowed vales ; 
 From the scarred Peak and splintry Edge, 
 By Salop's stony march with Wales, 
 
 To grassy boss and grassy ledge, 305 
 
 To pastoral Wilts, to Somerset, 
 To Dartmoor holding up her ridge 
 
 Against the west wind and the wet ; 
 In billowy breadths of open down 
 Where the bright rivers ripple and fret, 310 
 
 And each hill wears a beechen crown, 
 And every village hides in trees ; 
 And on the heath, by market town, 
 
 Bv holt and brake, from Axe to Tees — 
 
 Seek there, for there my root is thrown 315 
 Between the Eastern and Western seas. 
 
 And whence my masters, whence their own. 
 And wherefore over us they lord it 
 Who are of England's marrow and bone. 
 
 The Use is so and doth award it. 320 
 
 To them the land, to us the plow ; 
 They take the fruits when we have scored it; 
 
 But I eat bread in the sweat of my brow 
 
 14
 
 THE MAN ON THE HILL 
 
 And hold my wife against my side, 
 
 And love her when the lights are low, 325 
 
 And call her mine, and bid her bide 
 
 The better or worse of tricksome years, 
 As she promised when she was bride. 
 
 And so I, Hodge, make shift with my peers." 
 
 Quousque Is it not his yet, this dear soil, 330 
 
 tandem? Rich with his blood and sweat and tears ? 
 Warm with his love, quick with his toil. 
 
 Where kings and their stewards come and go, 
 
 And take his earnings as tribute royal. 
 And suffer him keep a shilling or so ? 335 
 
 They come, they pass, their names grow dim; 
 
 He bends to plow, or plies his hoe ; 
 And what are they to the land or him .? 
 
 They shall perish but he endure 
 
 (Thus saith the Scripture old and grim), 340 
 He shall shed them like a vesture ; 
 
 But he is the same, his tale untold ; 
 
 And to his sons' sons shall inure 
 The land whereon he was bought and sold. 
 
 15
 
 BOOK I 
 
 THE STAR OF SENLAC
 
 BOOK I: THE STAR OF SENLAC 
 
 The way is long and very dark 
 I have to go : be Thou my guide. 
 Beholdy I bring as to an Ark 
 
 In waste of waters this to Thy side. 
 Hold it a moment in Thy hand^ 
 And give me courage and right pride. 
 
 Three f I 1HERE was a year, I understand, 
 
 ^E^iand I ^ thousand odd since Christ was King, 
 
 1066. ' X There reigned three kings in England 
 
 Ere Christmas bells were due to ring ; 
 
 And after them came never a one 5 
 
 Of English blood for song to sing : 
 
 Edward, and Harold Godwinsson, 
 And the Bastard of Normandy — 
 Him they called the Base-begun, 
 
 Tho' none the worse for that fared he. 10 
 
 And in that time of high unrest 
 Among the high who deem them free, 
 
 Hodge the plowman, ridging the crest 
 Under the stars with his oxen-team, 
 Saw the bearded star in the west 15 
 
 19
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 And markt his mantle of litten steam 
 That flew as he flew and foreboded 
 Murrain or dearth, and made men dream 
 
 O' nights, and women who workt full-loaded 
 Drave to bed before their day, 20 
 
 To bring forth children cripple-bodied, 
 
 Hare-lipt, riven, halt or splay. 
 
 The summer- tide was slumbrous and hot 
 That set in with that Star of May ; 
 
 There was no spring feed to be got ; 25 
 
 The corn grew short, there was no air ; 
 The land panted ; a man fell shot 
 
 By unseen shaft from none knew where, 
 Out in the open among his friends. 
 Out in the acres parcht and bare. 30 
 
 God, He knew to what dreadful ends 
 Such wild doings were let to be ; 
 But good Saint Michael made amends 
 
 When a wet wind blew up from the sea. 
 
 And brought the soak to thirsty lands, 35 
 
 And drave men out to fallow and lea. 
 
 So to the plowing went all hands ; 
 
 And what reckt Hodge of Harold the King, 
 Of Dives-on-Sea, or Pevensey sands. 
 
 Of Norman or of Etheling 40 
 
 Beside the wet for the land's drouth ? 
 What of marching and countermarching. 
 
 Hotfoot to North, hotfoot to South, 
 
 20
 
 THE STAR OF SENLAC 
 
 Hob and Lob gone out with the reeve 
 
 To sweat and grunt in battle's mouth — 45 
 
 Hob and Lob with the fyrd to cleave 
 The Hear To the try St of the Hoar Apple-tree ? 
 Apple- His plow was not for a take-or-leave, 
 
 ^^^^' His beast must eat, to work must he 
 
 On the dim cliffs above the s|iore, 5c 
 
 Upon the hills above the sea, 
 
 Where rain-fog lulled the shingle's roar 
 To a prattle of little ripples awash, 
 And sights and sounds were sudden and o'er — 
 
 Here for a flash, gone in a flash, 55 
 
 Like sea-birds drifting, hke snow that floats, 
 A moment lying, then on the brash 
 
 Melted — the mist played eyes and throats 
 Phantasmagoria with the world. 
 What time at sea the fleet of boats 60 
 
 Crept north ; and ere the Dragon unfurl'd 
 To shame the rebels of the north 
 The Dragon's lord was southward hurl'd 
 
 To meet his dread, and try his worth 
 
 With one who feared no mortal thing 65 
 
 But his own need. That drove him forth — 
 
 Immortal hunger : that was king. 
 
 Saint On thro' the mist those robbers came 
 
 Calixtus' While Hodge was at his clod-breaking ; 
 f^gg For when to gild Saint Calixt's name 70 
 
 21
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Uprose the autumnal sun that day 
 And the earth reekt beneath his flame, 
 
 Hodge fared to work ; he might not stay, 
 Tho' hill wagged head to hill, or leapt 
 The tall elm-trees like storks at play ; 75 
 
 He must abroad while the beasts slept 
 (Altho' the Kings of the earth stood up) 
 To win them fodder. His way he crept 
 
 While Normans take the Blessed Sop ; 
 
 While his kindred mutter and snore 80 
 
 And daylight brimmeth the sky's cup. 
 
 He takes the road, he leads the store 
 To pasture, or yokes-to his cattle. 
 And drives his furrow a lugg or more 
 
 While trumpets shatter and drums rattle, 85 
 
 And kings and the herds they drive take breath 
 For plunge in the red bath of battle. 
 
 "The What's to him this Dance of Death, 
 D^Kf^o/ Qj. |.j^^g young man that jigs for his lord. 
 
 Young Taillefer, as the tale saith, 90 
 
 Flaunting or tossing up his sword, 
 
 Singing of Charlemagne and the Peers 
 To dare the Englishman and his horde ? 
 What's it to him how the flood veers. 
 
 Spilling on Senlac's bare ledge 1 95 
 
 'Tis nine by the sun, as it appears. 
 Time for nuncheon under the hedge. 
 
 22
 
 THE STAR OF SENLAC 
 
 Loose your kerchief of bread and porret, 
 
 Sit you down and cut you a wedge, 
 And chew deep-breathing, the better for it ; loo 
 
 Nor any the worse for the murder-bout 
 
 Five mile hence, as a bird would score it — 
 Murder, havoc, hatred and rout. 
 
 Foul blood-letting that makes men beasts; 
 
 English grunting their harsh Out ! Out ! 105 
 And shaven Normans, smooth as priests, 
 
 Countergrunting their Dex nous aide ! 
 
 Or how the onset creeps and twists 
 Round and about thro' the hazel-glade 
 
 And up the slope to th' embattled brood no 
 
 Of Godwin's sons in shield-stockade ! 
 Hodge is amunch while the mailed flood 
 
 Of hungry thieves and rascalry 
 
 Slays and sacks the chiefs of his blood. 
 And gets again to his husbandry, 115 
 
 And drives his plow till the tardy sun 
 
 Goes down bloody into the sea ; 
 And homeward then, the day's work done — 
 
 Calixtus' day, when a king was shot. 
 
 And a new king trod him, a wench's son. 120 
 
 T^^ O lord of a realm, or a three-perch plot, 
 /7«!/IIr What will you do with your pair of hands 
 
 men. But hold your fistful ? Your headpiece hot 
 
 May rule that which it understands : 
 
 23
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 The rest is vanity. What gained 125 
 
 The Bastard by his doubled lands ? 
 He sweated double who twice reigned. 
 
 But Hodge, who changed his burly lord, 
 
 The sleepy, easy, beery-veined. 
 For hatchety Norman, tense as a cord — 130 
 
 Curt-voiced Hericourt, Grantmesnil, 
 
 Tibetot, Botetort, Ralf Flambard, 
 Perci, d'Albini, Mandeville, 
 
 D'Eu, d'Avranches, Lacy or Verdun — 
 
 He changed his master but not his vill ; 135 
 He called old Stoke a new Stoke-Farden, 
 
 And drave his plow in the old furrow : 
 
 The land he knows bears a new burden, 
 The same good sun will shine to-morrow ; 
 
 Tho' Ralf be reeve in place of Grim, i^o 
 
 The new manor is the old boro', 
 And all is one to the likes of him. 
 
 So he may earn his bent back's worth. 
 
 He savours October rich and dim. 
 The sweet sharp smell of the wet earth ; 1^5 
 
 The dying fall, the woodland sere. 
 
 The taint of death that is promise of birth, 
 A glory of gold for the world's bier 
 
 (O dewy hillside ! O tall tree ! ) : 
 
 Thanks giveth he for the fading year. 150 
 
 Such good content, good Lord, give me ! 
 
 24
 
 THE STAR OF SENLAC 
 
 Hodge and Hodgc hath his plot of land, to love it 
 his land. ^jf j^g jg bond, his love is free) ; 
 
 Though Gurth may have a full half-bovatc 
 Of deep land in the Blackacre, 155 
 
 And book behind him which will prove it, 
 
 And pasture for his pence a year ; 
 
 While Hodge have nought but his poor pightle, 
 Lifted by moonlight here or there. 
 
 Held God knows how, by no writ title, 160 
 
 The root's in him by saw which says. 
 What's done is done without requital ; 
 
 To-morrows shall be as yesterdays ; 
 And so for ever ! Saints enough 
 Has Holy Church for priests to praise ; 165 
 
 But the chief of saints for workday stuff 
 Afield or at board is good Saint Use, 
 Withal his service is rank and rough ; 
 
 Nor bath he altar nor altar-dues. 
 
 Nor boy with bell, nor psalmodies, 170 
 
 Nor folk on benches, nor family pews — 
 
 Yet he is Hodge's and Hodge his. 
 
 And holding to him these days of dread, 
 Hodge the bondman may work at ease 
 
 And munch at ease his leek and bread, 175 
 
 Let rime or flower be on the thorn. 
 And English Harold alive or dead. 
 
 But he must bend to his lord's corn 
 
 (Follow him thro' returning moons !) ; 
 
 25
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 From the wet winter when wheat is born iSo 
 
 Every season hath its Boones — 
 
 Sowing, harrowing, reaping, carrying 
 Thro' dripping or thro' burning noons. 
 
 He guards the blade against bird-harrying, 
 He hoes, and then with sickle and stick 185 
 Harvests, with the girl he's marrying 
 
 Hard at his heels ; and so to the rick, 
 And so to fork and flail and van 
 Go man and woman, hearty or sick, 
 
 Hodge with his wife, maid with her man — 190 
 John Stot's daughter, the brown-eyed lass 
 With ripening breast and neck of tan, 
 
 Fifteen year old come Candlemass. 
 Unfree, unfree, bound to his vill. 
 Plodding his rounds like blinkered ass 195 
 
 That draws the well ; at his lord's will. 
 
 There where he sweats there he must bide ; 
 No Jack of him may have his Jill 
 
 Unless he buy her to his side ; 
 
 No Jack may win the monk's fair crown, 200 
 Nor make the Body of Him Who died 
 
 That men might live. That Head hung down 
 For gentlemen, as it would seem. 
 Unless some day Christ know His own. 
 
 ivwiam Dead is King Harold, sped his dream ; 205 
 
 is King. They choose the Bastard, crown his sword. 
 
 26
 
 THE STAR OF SENLAC 
 
 He's burnt the North, by Avon's stream 
 He's called the West to know him lord. 
 
 A lord he is, who rules with might 
 
 The welter of his brigand horde : 210 
 
 No man dare trespass in his sight 
 
 Which oversees from Tweed to Seine ; 
 
 No man dare question his good right 
 From Cheviot to the march of Maine. 
 
 Stark lord, the emblems of whose power 215 
 
 This beaten realm doth yet retain 
 In Lincoln's castle, London's tower, 
 
 On Durham's eyrie river-girt. 
 
 And where Ely abode the hour 
 Of Cromwell's rod and Hitch's hurt. 220 
 
 So up and down and back and forth 
 
 The strong king goes with spears alert ; 
 He cows the West, he hounds the North, 
 
 Till all this realm is in his grip. 
 
 Now he will reckon his work's worth. 225 
 
 The empty leagues where Sarum's keep. 
 
 Islanded lonely in the grass, 
 
 Watches the shepherd and the sheep 
 Behold him now. Before him pass 
 
 His bailiffs and commissioners 230 
 
 To tell the acres each man has 
 In fee from him. He sits, he hears. 
 
 Huge crimsoned bulk of little ease ; 
 
 27
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Domesday. 
 
 7/ie Nor- 
 man hold. 
 
 But never a tittle slips his ears, 
 And never baron 'scapes his knees 235 
 
 Whereat to kneel and touch his hands 
 
 And do him homage and fealties, 
 With suit and service for his lands. 
 
 And every due of every wight 
 
 Within this England written stands 240 
 
 For all to read who have the sight : 
 
 Sokemen so many, tenants-at-will, 
 
 Cotsetters, men of tenant right ; 
 The kine, the pigs, the weirs, the mill ; 
 
 Villeins with their oxen and plows — 24.5 
 
 There wrought no man in any vill 
 But he was reckoned with his house. 
 
 And as in good Saint Edward's days 
 
 So must it go. Saint Use allows. 
 When Norman lords ride English ways. 250 
 
 Just was this king, and cared not flinch 
 
 To give or take, to ruin or raise. 
 He took his ell and spared his inch — 
 
 That was his freedom as he viewed it ; 
 
 By hook or crook he got the kinch 255 
 
 Upon his rascals, or they rued it 
 
 At rope's end. So with humour grim 
 
 And harsh he sought peace and ensued it. 
 And died; and peace held after him. 
 
 And after him to this our day 260 
 
 The Norman and his Sanhedrim 
 
 28
 
 THE STAR OF SENLAC 
 
 Have held the land in triple sway — 
 
 By sword, by use, by lawmaking; 
 
 And yet more Norman even than they 
 Is he who climbs within the ring 265 
 
 Of Privilege and learns the rite 
 
 Which Normans had from their dead king. 
 " I am thy man," so sware his knight, 
 
 " In life and limb, and will keep faith 
 
 With thee and thine in wrong or right 270 
 From this time forth thro' life and death." 
 
 God knows they have not shunned to die, 
 
 And wear their honour like a wreath ; 
 And no man knows it more than I. 
 
 Yet mark: while lords by Sarum's hold 275 
 
 Debated how estates should lie 
 'Twixt suzerain and mesne, burnt gold 
 
 Was on the wheat, and Hodge afield 
 
 Laid-to the sickle. So of old 
 Shepherds were watching on the weald 280 
 
 While kings and sages came athrong 
 
 To seek the new-born Lord, revealed 
 Withal in starry outpoured song 
 
 To those poor humble-minded clowns 
 
 Keeping their flocks there all night long. 285 
 
 Dead or alive, King William frowns 
 On mutiny or hatching plot, 
 And serves the new king England owns, 
 
 29
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 The red-head bully, blunderer, sot, 
 
 Thick with curses, thick as his blood, 290 
 
 Shot in the Forest, and well shot. 
 
 Shot ill or well, shot bad or good. 
 That red king was his father's son, 
 To keep in awe his robber brood; 
 
 And so when he was dead and done 295 
 
 Beauclerk. Did Henry Beauclerk many a year. 
 The shifty, patient, waiting one. 
 
 With little joy of his home gear 
 But such content as may be told in 
 The country's peace from year to year. 300 
 
 Now has good Hodge enlarged his holding 
 To a quarter virgate in the strips ; 
 Now a fair wife for arms' enfolding 
 
 Awaits his summons of the lips. 
 
 Villein and neif they well may be, 305 
 
 But that's your world which your mind grips : 
 
 There needs no other. Wise is he 
 Who works his patch and joys in it. 
 With ankles hobbled, but mind free. 
 
 To better that may pass man's wit. 310 
 
 3^
 
 BOOK n 
 
 CURTMANTLE
 
 BOOK II : CURTMANTLE 
 
 Anarchy. T ET mortal man make ready to weep 
 I At all times, ere good fortune flit ! 
 
 JL-jNo sooner was that king dug deep 
 
 To lord his narrow earthen bed, 
 
 Forthwith from donjon, tower and keep 5 
 
 Lift one by one a rascal head, 
 
 And tongues were clackt, and whispers leapt 
 
 Like spears of fire : " The kings are dead — 
 Up, chieftain, out ! " Forth Sarum stept, 
 
 Bishop and knight, and like a cock lo 
 
 Clapt wings and crowed, as him which kept 
 Peter ashamed of gibe and mock 
 
 For many a day ere he became 
 
 His Master's gatekeeper and rock. 
 They rise, they flare with sword and flame 15 
 
 Out and abroad the country over ; 
 
 Nor, as when hawks fall foul, the game 
 And hedgerow finch may cower in cover. 
 
 And very fieldmouse take to his hole. 
 
 May Hodge get screen from his wind-hover. 20 
 Let lords of land take bloody toll, 
 
 Let kings of it shed life like rain, 
 
 33 °
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 The land must have Hodge body and soul : 
 To it ! To it ! to work again ! 
 
 They skin the land, the castles rise, 25 
 
 The castles fall ; o'er Sarum plain 
 The quick fire runs, the quick hare flies, 
 
 The Five Rivers flov^^ red v^ater ; 
 
 Brother bites brother traitorwise. 
 And Lust, v\^hich is War's eldest daughter, 30 
 
 And Cruelty, which married Lust, 
 
 Breed curious vice from furious slaughter. 
 Let Hodge encounter as he must 
 
 To see his sons hung by the feet. 
 
 To see their brains pockmark the dust, 35 
 
 To see their fair flesh made dogs' meat ; 
 
 And his raped daughter grinning grief. 
 
 Naked and witless in the street. 
 Wreck of the lechery of a thief, 
 
 Ransackt and shockt, deflowered and flung 4.0 
 
 Out like a dirty handkerchief 
 To lie betrodden in the dung. 
 
 Himseemed that Nature and the Air 
 
 Had art and part these shames among ; 
 The murrain festered, everywhere 45 
 
 Was sheep-scab ; this year was a drought, 
 
 Next year the floods, all years despair. 
 And thus the reign of riot ran out 
 
 With King and Empress up and down; 
 
 A shout of triumph, then a rout: 50 
 
 34
 
 CURTMANTLE 
 
 Then came King Death and took the crown, 
 To add it to his goodly batch 
 Of such memorials in Hell town. 
 
 Renew, man Hodge, with yelm your thatch. 
 Warm your chill bones, the hour is planned 55 
 When thieves of men shall meet their match : 
 
 There comes a man to hold this land — 
 A freckled man, blinking and squat, 
 A crook-kneed man of fidgety hand. 
 
 In an old cloak and a vile hat, 60 
 
 But Lord ! a man ! He had a prong 
 To rend the scum from the yeasty vat 
 
 Whose bubbles were men's breath, whose song 
 Was 'Thine is mine ! and I bleed ! I bleed! 
 Gasp of the poor or grunt of the strong. 65 
 
 But of his ordering and good heed. 
 How he foiled his robber lords. 
 Buying shields as he had the need. 
 
 Taking their money to hire their swords : 
 
 Here is stuff for the Chroniclers, 70 
 
 Them that sweat deeds into words. 
 
 Little of such high policy stirs 
 
 Plowman Hodge in his green realm 
 Of grassy hills and junipers. 
 
 He spreads his straw, he pegs his yelm 75 
 
 To mend the thatch ; he snuffs the breeze. 
 The wind comes warm; there's bud on the elm: 
 
 35
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Out and about ! Good sap to your knees. 
 Health to eye, to backbone marrow ; 
 Rid your acres at your good ease, 80 
 
 Drive your plow, weigh down your harrow 
 What time your head-bowed oxen trudge ; 
 While cow's in calf or sow's in farrow 
 
 There's God in the sky to wink at Hodge, 
 And King Curtmantle his world to scan S5 
 Here below ; and he'll not budge 
 
 Tho' barons bicker and churchmen ban. 
 
 Clarendon, Now to the bcechwoods ovcr the down, 
 
 Where deer are twice the worth of a man. 
 
 The King rideth to Clarendon; 90 
 
 And Hodge may view him from the fields. 
 Him with his bad hat for a crown, 
 
 His tramping legions, horses and shields. 
 Mitred priests and their sacraments — 
 Such gapeseed the high world yields ! 95 
 
 Like toadstools dimpling in the bents 
 Rise in a night of miracles 
 Towns and villages of tents 
 
 (Hodge to Hob this wonder tells) ; 
 
 And of the prince of dark visage, 100 
 
 Archpriest Thomas, riding the hills 
 
 Furtive before the King in his rage. 
 Who wrings his nails to see him there 
 And know his peer, with gage for his gage, 
 
 36
 
 Ikenal. 
 
 CURTMANTLE 
 
 And craft for his craft. For he can stare 105 
 
 With eyes unheeding, vacant, mild. 
 
 As if he saw God in the air 
 Shap't Hke a man or naked child. 
 
 What time his master fumes and mutters, 
 
 Or pads the floor like wolf of the wild, 1 10 
 
 Mouthing impotence, froths and splutters, 
 
 Thinks to cow him, cries to be rid 
 
 Of the pest he is. But that cry he utters 
 Undoes full half of all he did. 
 
 Desperate work there lies before ye, 115 
 
 Strong Plantagenet, hoarded and hid ; 
 For that shaved poll a crown of glory. 
 
 Martyr's light on his politics. 
 
 Tapers and gold for his feretory ; 
 For you the smear of blood that sticks. 120 
 
 Great doings at Clarendon ! 
 
 Nought to the man behind the quicks 
 Cutting his hunch, or out in the sun 
 
 Slipping the plow-share thro' the flints. 
 
 King or Bishop, it's all one 125 
 
 To goodman Hodge while the sun glints 
 
 On jingling harness or crow's wing, 
 
 And warms his back as he works his stints. 
 
 Now let him learn the way of a king. 
 
 It was by Clarendon, they say, 130 
 
 This king out at his goshawking, 
 
 37
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Riding in the cool of the day 
 
 Up to the down, must fall love-bitten 
 
 Before a maid called Ikenai, 
 A girl with a round face like a kitten, 135 
 
 Gooseherding in the common pasture, 
 
 With sky-blue eyes and hair sun-litten, 
 As slim as a boy in her smockt vesture — 
 
 Young Ikenai, plain Hodge's daughter ! 
 
 But he must make himself her master ; 140 
 So men of his went out and bought her, 
 
 Since he must have her by all means ; 
 
 There was no way, her will was water : 
 The paramount must rule the mesnes. 
 
 He did but as a king may do ; 145 
 
 The child was cowed and made no scenes, 
 But took the use he put her to 
 
 And bore the burden of womenkind ; 
 
 Gave him a son, or maybe two — 
 But one was a man of his father's mind. 150 
 
 And as for her, why, no one knows 
 
 Ought about her, or ought can find. 
 Save she was Hodge's girl, a rose 
 
 Flickt from the hedge for a man's breast. 
 
 Fading the while his way he goes 155 
 
 And dropt mid-journey. Guess the rest : 
 
 Here's enough of deeds in the shade. 
 
 Better than many, tho' bad was best, 
 '^89- This king was, and his end he made 
 
 38
 
 CURTMANTLE 
 
 Even as his life had been. He died i6o 
 
 Old, ill, forsaken and betrayed 
 In his castle by Vienne's tide. 
 
 Warring upon his fine tall sons. 
 
 Beaten and beggared of all but pride : 
 That he had, to cover his bones. 165 
 
 Fool and Now of his sons I have nought to say 
 Knave. (When fools are kings the wise pen runs) : 
 
 Richard the Minstrel, Yea-and-Nay, 
 
 A hawk the Archduke lured with his lime ; 
 
 Him that took life for a firework-day 170 
 
 And burnt himself out before his prime — 
 
 Nought of him, who lived and was dead 
 
 Ere Hodge knew him, for Hodge's rhyme. 
 And what of Lackland, slugabed. 
 
 That sold his kingdom to the Pope ? 175 
 
 Little enough when all is said : 
 Trust him to hang, with enough rope. 
 
 Slugging he lost his Normandy 
 
 And penned his lords in narrower scope, 
 Since they must choose where they would be 180 
 
 Masters, in England or in France. 
 
 There was his rope ; and the tall tree 
 1215- Was Runnymede's where they made him dance. 
 
 They called the tune, he needs must foot it ; 
 
 Well might Hodge take the play askance ! 185 
 For all the triumph that they bruit it 
 
 Brought little joy to him and his. 
 
 39
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Charter of Liberties, they put it : 
 
 God knows it was not Liberty's. 
 
 Liberty for a man to swing igo 
 
 His villeins on his own park-trees ! 
 
 Freedom to make freedom a thing 
 Not to be hop't for ! If Hodge hears 
 The psean which the lawyers sing 
 
 'Twere well he'd wax to plug his ears. 195 
 
 For this inspires their shrilling words, 
 That lords have judgment of their peers, 
 
 And the terre-tenants — of their lords ! 
 Great hearing, Hodge, thy plow to speed 
 The Barons' Carta Magna affords, 200 
 
 Wrung, with a rope, from Runnymede, 
 
 Hodge's But Hodge, the Man upon the Hill, 
 Aff'mrs. Hath other lack of instant deed, 
 
 Seeing in house a young child ill ; 
 
 And he must after the reeve's wife 205 
 
 To tell him why it lies so still. 
 And burns, and burns, and dare the knife 
 To cut the blanket out of its throat 
 And give it back the breath of life. 
 Or he must off to Halimote 
 
 To hold, and be asham'd by no man, 
 His right and title to hedgebote. 
 Or lay his lawful claim to common ; 
 Or find John Stot a plain cuckold, 
 
 40 
 
 210
 
 CURTMANTLE 
 
 Or duck Madge Hern, the foul-mouthed 
 woman, 215 
 
 Bleared, white and viperous, a scold — 
 
 And what is Runnymede to him ? 
 
 And is King Richard dead and cold ? 
 Or is King John King Satan's limb ? 
 
 Or the Pope innocent ? Courage, verse, 220 
 
 Here's an end. Make your tackle trim. 
 Times shall be better, ere they be worse. 
 
 41
 
 BOOK III 
 
 BONACCORD
 
 The double 
 
 w 
 
 Brand. m m # ^i 
 
 earth 
 
 BOOK III: BONACCORD 
 
 HEN God first made this teeming 
 
 He set a man and woman in it, 
 And bid them love and bring to birth 
 
 More of their kind to work and win it. 
 
 To it they went. The sons they had 5 
 
 Lived brotherly, but in a minute 
 
 They fell a-bickering — Cain went mad 
 And slew his brother, for that he 
 Stood well with God. A logic bad 
 
 Taught him high hand a remedy 10 
 
 For lack of grace ; and that is how 
 Man covered pure Fraternity 
 
 In a bloody shirt. The weak must bow. 
 And double-scored the brand of Cain, 
 Burnt in the strong man's masterful brow 15 
 
 And where the little man's leg-chain 
 Galls the thin flesh. A devil's dodge 
 That was, by force of arms to gain 
 
 That which you have not earned and grudge 
 Your neighbour, him that was your brother, 20 
 
 45
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 That earth-worm in his cast, poor Hodge. 
 Hodge and my Lord should love each other — 
 
 But how get at it ? There's the twist. 
 
 The only man to solve that pother 
 Is your whole-hearted idealist 25 
 
 Who sees Truth naked. We had one 
 
 And slew Him, God's son Jesu-Christ ; 
 And then twelve hundred years must run 
 
 Before another poet stood, 
 
 And saw the work in Eden begun, 30 
 
 As God had seen it, very good. 
 
 The gi-ay By mountain path and valley ford 
 Poef- Came a gray poet in a hood. 
 
 With news for all from his sweet Lord ; 
 
 A barefoot poet in serge gown, 35 
 
 Our pleasant brother Bonaccord, 
 Sib thro' Assisi to the clown. 
 Upon the glebe, and as he saith 
 Sib to the wretch that wears the crown. 
 Since he loves all things, even Death, 4,0 
 
 And deems the man that gives his life 
 To serve his friends no waster of breath. 
 1 221. Now to this land where woe is rife 
 Amid the waving cornlands come 
 These sons of Francis and his Wife, 45 
 
 And see a shambles, and make a home. 
 And hush men's groaning till it cease, 
 
 46
 
 BONACCORD 
 
 And wake the blind and voice the dumb, 
 Crying abroad the Prince of Peace. 
 
 Strange doctrine which a man may keep 5° 
 
 Beside him in his little case ! 
 How Brother Death and Sister Sleep 
 
 Are out with him beside foul weather ; 
 
 How Brother Ox and Brother Sheep 
 Share the same parentage together. 55 
 
 He shall defend them under His wing, 
 
 They shall be safe beneath His feather ; 
 Nor shall they fear ill fortune's sting 
 
 Nor murrain's burn nor famine's bite, 
 
 Nor greedy lord nor idle king, 60 
 
 Since all are blindworms in His sight 
 
 Who made this world a garden-plot 
 
 Where He might take His pure delight. 
 And weeps to see His aim made nought. 
 
 By them he set upon the road 65 
 
 And made so fortunate, they forgot 
 They must bear one another's load — 
 
 But now the carrying falls to Hodge, 
 
 While his high brother wields the goad. 
 A difference 'twixt drudge and drodge 70 
 
 There is, as teaches a good scrip : 
 
 The first's content his heart to lodge 
 In toil, and find strength in its grip, 
 
 A slave to work ; t'other's a slave 
 
 At work ; he slaves for fear of the whip. 75 
 
 47
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 'Twas Bonaccord came in and gave 
 
 The heart again to EngHsh grist, 
 
 And made a workman of a knave. 
 Now let the mill grind as it list ; 
 
 The good grain grows as first it grew, go 
 
 Since Bonaccord makes Bonacquist. 
 Barefoot and laughing, two by two. 
 
 Forth by the mountains and the sea, 
 
 To sup on England's bitter brew, 
 Came those gray gowns from Italy. 85 
 
 And this was all they had to teach : 
 
 Thrice blessed is Saint Poverty ; 
 As poor, yet making many rich. 
 
 As having nought, possessing all. 
 
 Stitchless, to folk without a stitch 90 
 
 They sang this life a madrigal ; 
 
 And why our Lady chose an inn. 
 
 And bare her Son in oxen-stall 
 (Because her kingdom was within 
 
 As ours is too if we would choose it) ; 95 
 
 And why Christ died — to drive this in. 
 Whoso would save his life must lose it. 
 
 So to poor Hodge the broken serf. 
 
 So to the outlaw, so to the stews, it 
 Flies fast and far, as o'er the turf 100 
 
 Cloud-shadows and the sun hold chace. 
 
 Even he who, gnawed by silver scurf. 
 Gropes for his way without a face, 
 
 48
 
 BONACCORD 
 
 The leper of the clacking boards 
 
 Warms to the gospel full of grace 105 
 
 That calls him brother of his lords 
 
 (Since God was made a poor girl's child). 
 Within his fretted flesh he hoards 
 
 The message from the Undefiled, 
 
 And bears his loathsome burden yet no 
 
 A little longer, reconciled. 
 
 Broadcast is flung this holy net 
 That knits up all men in a band 
 Of common right and common debt 
 
 In what all men may understand. 115 
 
 They sing the gods denied to no man, 
 Whether he till or hold the land ; 
 
 Whether of Sarum use or Roman 
 
 The Church, these two her altar knows. 
 The One a child, the other Woman. 120 
 
 iadonna. O You that cast like a shed rose 
 
 Your maiden grace and delicate pride ! 
 Up to your Lord as incense goes 
 
 Your dawning womanhood undenied ; 
 
 And so He takes you for the spouse 125 
 
 Of Heaven ; and so you are His bride, 
 
 Mother of Men, your womb the house 
 Of this our Brother that was slain, 
 A King who for the love of us 
 
 Took up our nature and our pain ! 130 
 
 49 B
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Ah, Flower of Women, what woman born 
 Grudges the heartache and the stain. 
 
 Knowing within your breast the thorn 
 Of that your; Son's torment and death, 
 Or fronts the morrow's lowering morn 135 
 
 Uncomforted by your sweet breath ? 
 Now thuswise Brother Bonaccord 
 Or some gray visionary saith 
 
 From Dover Strait to Haverford, 
 
 And thence across the midland shires, 140 
 
 Until he strikes the cold sea-board 
 
 Where in the north men light the fires 
 In belfries to warn off the Scots. 
 Peace, not a sword, snug-wattled byres, 
 
 Not castles, builds from John o' Groats 145 
 
 To the Land's End this Conqueror 
 For his rope-cinctured hodden-coats. 
 
 The The grain was on the threshing floor 
 Sotving. When these newcomers toucht the land ; 
 
 They purged the seed and added more, 150 
 And flung it broadcast, as the sand 
 Is sown by carrying wind ; and some 
 Fell among thieves, and some was banned 
 By them that sweep the table-crumb 
 
 To dogs rather than Lazarus ; 155 
 
 And some made stew and stye and slum 
 Fragrant with young-eyed hope. And thus 
 
 50
 
 BONACCORD 
 
 Their logic went : if God was flesh, 
 
 Then flesh was God, and God with us 
 Was fettered, and made sweet the mesh, i6o 
 
 With King and Hodge alike divine. 
 
 Let Oxford now this new grain thresh 
 Until comes broadening like a line 
 
 Of light far over a stormy sea 
 
 The thought : " If this is brother of mine, 165 
 How comes it he is lord of the fee. 
 
 With dogs to hound me to the field. 
 
 While I, his villein, go unfree ? 
 What then ! I huddle in a bield 
 
 On a dung floor among the rats, 170 
 
 The mixen at the door my shield 
 Against the weather, and these slats 
 
 Keep sun and rain from the straw bed 
 
 Where I must pig it, man, wife, brats 
 All coucht like swine ! I'm suckt, I'm bled 175 
 
 To work my brother's broad demesne : 
 
 He fares abroad, and when I'm dead 
 My son, to herd where I have been, 
 
 Must pay, my penury to get, 
 
 Make my lord fat for leave to go lean ! " 180 
 Questions for Hodge ! Not yet, not yet ; 
 
 Enwombed as yet, against the day 
 
 When he and Redeless Richard met 
 Face to face — and the fool gave way. 
 Henry III. But uow that lax-vciucd son of John 185 
 
 51
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Lolled with his foreigners at play, 
 And built with what he had not won 
 
 The great gray church embankt by Thames 
 
 Wherein to store his carrion 
 When he had done with money and gems. 190 
 
 And now the men who called him king 
 
 Prove him and kingship empty names, 
 Fleecing the realm, to fiddle and sing, 
 
 To strum the tunes of Gai saber. 
 Hubert de One man stands up, and him they fling 195 
 Burgh. Yxi^^ the jail, to fester there. 
 
 Hubert, too late Curtmantle's lore 
 
 Upon his thieves you brought to bear ; 
 And all your doughty shoulders bore, 
 
 Grosseteste, you greatest son of Hodge, 200 
 
 Might never stem the tide of war. 
 Yet you were found an upright judge 
 
 By Francis' sons and Dominick's, 
 
 Seeking a shelter and a lodge 
 Out of the storm of politics, 205 
 
 Which like a mighty waterflood 
 
 Swept England bare, and left dry sticks 
 Behind its eddying smoke and blood. 
 Lewes, Of blood and smoke enough, good Muse ! 
 
 1264. Qf young corn trampled into mud, 210 
 
 Of Lewes Down above the Ouse 
 
 Where Richard of Almain was pounded. 
 
 And Henry learnt a foreign use 
 
 52
 
 BONACCORD 
 
 Sharper than any he had founded ; 
 
 Of Shnon Montfort's whip and sting, 215 
 
 Or Evesham where his Hfe was rounded, 
 
 What came there out ? A long-legged King, 
 Who learnt of Simon, and had wit 
 To know when sword had need to ding 
 
 And when to mount the mercy-seat, 220 
 
 And his best work within his land 
 To make himself no use in it. 
 
 He builded wiselier than he planned 
 Who gave himself a Parliament, 
 To find him money out of hand — 225 
 
 Which to his heirs, in the event- 
 Became a tingling and an itch. 
 Wringing their hearts to its intent. 
 
 Screwing them up to charter-pitch ; 
 
 Which was for gentlemen a rock, 230 
 
 Which was the staple of the rich. 
 
 And now is fallen a common mock 
 
 When, hedging out its knaves and fools, 
 It stays them not, but chockablock 
 
 With business, dies of its own rules, 235 
 
 Bound hand and foot — while fool and knave 
 Flap their wings, and the nation cools. 
 
 Hidden from thee, thou wise and brave 
 Plantagenet, little loved in Wales, 
 This crumbling of the architrave 240 
 
 Wherewith thou hopedst tie the pales 
 
 53
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 That fence about thy seigniory, 
 This holy island ! Nought avails 
 
 Her sacred girdle of the sea, 
 
 Nor welded chain nor smithied bolt 245 
 
 'Twixt thy degree and our degree. 
 
 If gangrene fester in the holt. 
 Or men long fretted by the gall 
 Learn the proud uses of revolt. 
 
 And old Saint Use no saint at all ! 250 
 
 Work for thy Parliament hath Fate ; 
 And how it rose, and by whose fall 
 
 Stood face to face with thy estate. 
 And by long fanning of the wings 
 Of war stood sovereign, and of late 255 
 
 Hath taught the workers to be kings 
 And spurn it like a broken toy — 
 Hither I wend as the song sings. 
 
 Hodge. Back now to Hodge and his new joy, 
 
 Profusely taught him, snugly treasured 260 
 As he goes trudging with his boy 
 
 The ruts their patient feet have measured 
 Since breeches covered innocence. 
 To serve his turn at work or leisure 
 
 He holds it fast, the dawning sense 265 
 
 That there's a God of simple folk, 
 A Woman for his reverence, 
 
 A Child she rears to bear a yoke. 
 
 54
 
 BONACCORD 
 
 In tilth, in mead, with sheep on hill, 
 Musing he stands, and sees the smoke 270 
 
 From village hearth rise up and fill 
 
 The blue air with a sharp wood-savour ; 
 And the dream comes and keeps him still, 
 
 That so may reek of him find favour 
 
 With that warm-bosomed Mother of God 275 
 Nursing her brave Son, herself braver, 
 
 Seeing she was woman as well as God, 
 And loved to give, and now must watch 
 The pains of manhood burn in God. 
 
 Hold fast thy gold beneath the thatch, 280 
 
 Thou son of man ! There's many a day. 
 And many a breathless plowing-match 
 
 On bitter acres ; long's the way. 
 
 And bloody are the milestones on it 
 
 Ere thou canst hear the Angel say, 285 
 
 " Take here thy throne as thou hast won it " — 
 And may be for thy gilded crest 
 And kingly sign, a cotton bonnet ! 
 
 The Seed When two wan lovers breast to breast 
 
 ope- Cling to each other beneath the moon, 290 
 Their wattled garret is a nest. 
 Their rags spell out the holy rune 
 
 Which makes them high priests of the night. 
 And drums their hearts to a rapturous tune, 
 The measure of their still delight. 295 
 
 SS
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Sheeted with gold their palliasse, 
 
 Since love has fired the straw with light ; 
 The hours like scented moments pass 
 
 Wherein they love ; and when they sleep, 
 
 Clinging together, each one has 300 
 
 The dream made fast and rooted deep, 
 
 A budded roof-tree against dearth, 
 
 A vine engraft, a fruiting slip 
 To make an orchard of the earth ! 
 
 So now hath Hodge in his poor hold 305 
 
 A sapling stem of priceless worth. 
 Like to that rod wherewith of old 
 
 Moses struck water from the stone ; 
 
 A wand to turn his cap to gold 
 And draw thanksgiving from a groan. 310 
 
 So stands he in this dawn of days 
 
 As one who waits and is alone 
 In a forest, at four cross-ways, 
 
 And hears the countless little noises, 
 
 And hearkens what the woodland says, 315 
 Rustle of rabbit, clear bird-voices. 
 
 Then out afar the cuckoo's call. 
 
 Where on his ash-tree he rejoices 
 In sky, warm wind and sun for all. 
 
 So heartens he, and looks beyond 320 
 
 With ridded eyes, and sees how small 
 The shadowing wood, his fear how fond. 
 
 The road how plain, how near the goal ; 
 
 56
 
 BONACCORD 
 
 For that glad music seems a bond 
 'Twixt his soul and the over-soul. 325 
 
 And so he takes his fardel up. 
 And loves the world, and knows it whole ! 
 
 Thus Francis mixt the stirrup-cup, 
 
 And sped our Brother Bonaccord 
 
 To proffer it for Hodge to sup. 330 
 
 And Hodge drank deep, and prais'd the Lord. 
 
 ^7
 
 BOOK IV 
 
 THE BLACK PRINCE
 
 BOOK IV : THE BLACK PRINCE 
 
 1327. 
 
 spring- T TT T INTER is past, the birds a-wing 
 ^^""' W/ Wheel in the plow's wake ; from the 
 V V down 
 
 Throngs the innumerable carolling 
 
 Of lambs whose asking voices drown 
 
 All clamour but the watery bleat 5 
 
 That beckons each. The buds are brown 
 
 Upon the elm-tops. The glad heat 
 Ripples along the hills' gray edges, 
 And o'er the dewpond where the feet 
 
 Of wagtail print the little wedges 10 
 
 Which mark his nodded harvestings 
 For wife and children. In the sedges 
 
 By riverside the warbler swings ; 
 And there midflood a rising trout 
 Noses, then oars beneath his rings, 15 
 
 Then in a flurry swirls about. 
 
 From the lord's woodland comes a cry 
 Where swineherd watches snuffle and snout ; 
 
 Along the road you see go by. 
 
 Pacing demurely on a mule, 20 
 
 61
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 The parson and his loteby — 
 
 His by snug practice, not church-rule. 
 
 All's well with Hodge these golden weeks, 
 After the folly of the fool 
 
 Was chokt in blood, and the fog-streaks 25 
 
 That swathed the eyes of Berkeley's keep 
 Could not hide Edward's torture-shrieks. 
 
 He sowed and therefore had to reap ; 
 But goodman Hodge, by that red job. 
 Stood better, all his fellowship, 30 
 
 When he, or Rob, or Hob, or Lob 
 Might freely hold his toft and garth. 
 Or get some schooling in his nob 
 
 If so he would, and sec his hearth 
 
 Swept by free woman for free man ; 35 
 
 For now the Lord of English earth 
 
 Must have what provender he can 
 
 To wage his wars and pay the knaves 
 Called out by ban and arriere-ban. 
 
 To enslave the French he freed his slaves 40 
 
 In England, then their sons bespoke 
 For butcher's work across the waves. 
 
 Outlook. Oh, busy highways full of folk, 
 
 Oh, pleasant days by countryside 
 Ere yet the dreadful pinion-stroke 45 
 
 Brought the fell angel on our pride. 
 And made this land a charnel-house, 
 
 62
 
 THE BLACK PRINCE 
 
 This land now laughing and young-eyed ! 
 Hodge heeds the knights for whom he plows 
 
 Ride forth to tourney in the lists ; 50 
 
 The bannerols, the horns that rouse 
 The cattle in the river mists, 
 
 The huntsmen and the dogs, the light 
 
 Women with falcons on their wrists. 
 Darkling he sets, as well he might, 55 
 
 My lord the Abbot at the chace, 
 
 A pricker for his acolyte, 
 Antler and scut his meed of grace, 
 
 Against yon pair of russet friars, 
 
 That hedge-priest with his rapt pale face, 60 
 Who listens unseen heavenly choirs 
 
 Sing the inheritance of the meek ! 
 
 Darkling he rakes the cowch and fires 
 The weedstack, and the trailing reek 
 
 Smothers the glittering passing lords ; 65 
 
 And v^here he heard the hunt-horn speak 
 He hears afar the clapper-boards. 
 
 Stayed only while their master scratch 
 
 Or falter wailing broken words 
 To passer-by for bite or snatch 70 
 
 To help his travel — He and his sore. 
 
 What are they but an awkward patch 
 Upon this world's wide pinafore, 
 
 A makeshift, but the only wear, 
 
 And good for Hodge's life or more 75 
 
 63
 
 THE SONG OE THE PLOW 
 
 While fat year follows on fat year, 
 And wages rise and corn is cheap, 
 And a man owns his land and gear, 
 
 And with a wife and child to keep 
 
 Hath wherewithal to front the day, 80 
 
 Knowing his corn his own to reap ? 
 
 Edzvard Q young man mettlesome and gay, 
 
 Who took our England in your trust, 
 What is the price wherewith to pay 
 
 Your bellyful of sauce for lust, 85 
 
 Your chivalry and magniloquence ? 
 Ashes of ashes, dust of dust 
 
 On you who, swollen by your fed sense, 
 Became the blind who led the blind, 
 A bloated bladder of pretence. 90 
 
 Woe to you, wretch, that could not find 
 In this good tilth your suffisance. 
 But needs must grudge the golden rind 
 
 Of the sweet fruit that swells in France : 
 There shall be bitter lines to score 
 Ere England writes your chevisance ! 
 
 For the third Edward was in store. 
 This fate, to rob a lady's knee. 
 To fall a-doting on a whore. 
 
 And see his fine sons' usury 100 
 
 Cleave this good realm from end to end 
 And drop it, for the husbandry 
 
 64 
 
 95
 
 THE BLACK PRINCE 
 
 Of shrewder kings to patch and mend. 
 
 Need for you, Canon of Chimay ! 
 
 Need for you, Chaucer, pleasant friend, 105 
 To tell us good tales by the way, 
 
 To make us merry while we bleed ; 
 
 To sound the music of the fray. 
 Woo Amaryllis with a reed 
 
 To venture from her leafy holt no 
 
 Ere yet the spur shall gall the steed 
 Or the hired bowman notch the bolt ! 
 
 The hunt is up, the knights advance. 
 And stallion King and princely colt 
 
 Fling heels up thro' the realm of France, 115 
 
 Pasturing their mettle. They cut throats, 
 They spit men's bodies on the lance. 
 
 They and the thieves they hire for groats ; 
 They burn the green earth black as Hell, 
 And Hob and Lob win more than botes 120 
 
 When women's bodies arc to sell. 
 
 And dead men's purses come for the asking. 
 Make what you can of it, Jehan le Bel ! 
 
 Of brigandage as knighthood masking, 
 
 Of young men taught the way of a beast, 125 
 Of Crecy and its evil tasking ; 
 
 Of Poitiers and the Prisoner's feast 
 
 Where courtesy made more rude the chain : 
 Make what you can of it, scribe and priest ! 
 
 65 F
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 But look askance thro' Aquitaine 130 
 
 And pass, or turn away and grieve 
 Before Limoges and the red rain. 
 Bhck Black Prince, before you taught to reive 
 Prince. There had been none of darker sword ; 
 
 Immortal want made William thieve, 135 
 
 Craving of that which must be lord ; 
 But you, my Prince, for wantonness 
 Taught thieving to your conscript horde. 
 
 Homeward they come whom you did press, 
 Soakt in the treasure earned with spears, 140 
 French money and the French sickness ; 
 
 And home come you to untimely shears. 
 But worse than any foreign scab. 
 Poor Hob and Lob turned routiers, 
 
 To plunder kindred, ravish and stab, 145 
 
 And spill broadcast their spawn obscene. 
 Sowing in virgin the seed of drab. 
 
 That the unconceiv'd be born unclean. 
 Prince, if indeed God gave you zest 
 To spoil fat years, you earn'd the lean. 150 
 
 Black Lo, as you flung the topmost crest 
 Death. q£ ^jj ^^^^ glory. King, when you, 
 
 Your sons and your light women, drest 
 
 For Garterdom in gold and blue. 
 
 Held festival, was dug the grave 155 
 
 Of Garterdom. The next wave drew 
 
 66
 
 THE BLACK PRINCE 
 
 And gathered mass, and o'er that wave 
 The sky hung dusk and copper-red ; 
 And there was a hush before it drave 
 
 Forth on its way of death and dread, i6o 
 
 To bring new heaven to new earth 
 Over the charnels of the dead. 
 
 As in the East our Hght had birth, 
 
 Thence came the darkness that must quench 
 That Hght, and coming, lent wry mirth 165 
 
 To you, enharboured from the stench 
 Of festering Florence, John Boccace ! 
 Wiling your ladies, lest they blench 
 
 To hear the groaning dead- cart pass, 
 
 With long-drawn tales of love's sweet pain 170 
 Under the olives on the grass. 
 
 And France, still smarting our domain. 
 Must suffer now a blacker Prince, 
 Who for one man by Edward slain 
 
 Slew a tenscore, and did not wince 175 
 
 To cross the sea, but scarred this land 
 With weals she has carried ever since. 
 
 Hither that angel with the brand. 
 
 That flying lord men called Black Death, 
 Courst with his bare blade in his hand, 180 
 
 And smote. Such buffet stays men's breath. 
 Men wait. There is no prayer to say, 
 Nor God to listen what prayer saith ; 
 
 For He has turned His face away, 
 
 67
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 To hide for a season, as He hid 185 
 
 When that absolving Flood had sway, 
 And all the filthiness men did 
 Under a vast unwrinkled sheet 
 Of waiting water was drown'd and rid. 
 
 Rain and At first it Seemed He would repeat 190 
 
 Plague. That cleansing purge, when that He sent 
 
 Unending rain, and whelm'd the wheat 
 
 In heavy ear. Saint John's tide spent. 
 The rain began, and thence to Yule 
 It hardly stopt, and thence to Lent 195 
 
 Continued ; but the Plague smote full 
 Midway the floods, and set afloat 
 The dead, and made a poison-pool 
 
 Of drowned field and merged cote. 
 
 There were no priests for houselling, 200 
 
 Nor men to dig, so fiercely smote 
 
 The fever. Men stood whispering 
 
 " Who next ? Is it I ? " And on the thought 
 Came the dry ache and thickening 
 
 Like lead in the veins ; and sight was nought 205 
 But a swim of dark. And men went mad 
 And tore themselves, or ran and caught 
 
 Their wives, saying " Save me ! " or unclad 
 Fled thro' the fields, or bit, as dogs 
 Bite water ; or if wit they had, 210 
 
 Crept out of sight and lay like logs, 
 
 68
 
 THE BLACK PRINCE 
 
 Covering their heads with sackcloth. Still 
 
 The endless rain that steeps and sogs 
 The land, and swims the taint of ill 
 
 Broadcast ! To breathe it is to choke. 215 
 
 Men fly the valleys for the hill 
 And huddle, sodden by the soak, 
 
 Awaiting till the rising tide 
 
 Of water brim the carrion-smoke 
 Up to the crest. John Stot's wife died 220 
 
 A Tuesday, when John Stot was gone 
 
 To work three hours. The children cried 
 And pulled her gown. The eldest one 
 
 Scolded and husht them. " Look," said she, 
 
 " The pretty spot my finger's on. 225 
 
 'Tis like a gillyflower. And see, 
 
 Here's another ! " Then she stared 
 
 And stiffened, and lookt fixedly ; 
 And tho' they throng'd her knees she glared 
 
 Up at the rafters ; and the spot 230 
 
 Glow'd on another armpit bared. 
 Then all her troubles were forgot. 
 
 And there was left one out of five 
 
 To wait, but not to see, John Stot. 
 He was caught seeking priest to shrive 235 
 
 His soul, because he saw the mark ; 
 
 But there was no priest left alive. 
 The child sat there till it was dark 
 
 And all the pallid sleepers hidden ; 
 
 69
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 So still it was, the wild dog's bark, 240 
 
 Calling his mates to feast forbidden 
 
 In the empty street, was sound of cheer, 
 And his breath snuffling in the midden. 
 
 She slept, and when the gray did peer 
 
 Between the slats, the glimmering bed, 245 
 So still, so still, awoke wild fear 
 
 In her. She caught at the door and fled 
 Into the street. A dog was there 
 At his hot business with the dead. 
 
 And stay'd to watch her. The sick air 250 
 
 Was fiU'd with bellowing of the kine 
 Unmilkt, and shrill and everywhere 
 
 The squealing of the unfed swine 
 
 Made clamour. But the silent crew 
 
 Behind their shutters made no sign. 255 
 
 A light rain fell, a chill wind blew 
 Upon the one soul left astir 
 In all the village. Pale sun threw 
 
 A watery radiance over her. 
 
 She found her father in the lane 260 
 
 Beside the church, where others were 
 
 As quiet as he — with his disdain. 
 
 Hodge, not his master, took the shock 
 Of this fierce ally of the rain. 
 Which smote the parson and his flock, 265 
 
 Smote carter, shepherd, plowman, hind. 
 Cut down the fogger at his stock, 
 
 70
 
 THE BLACK PRINCE 
 
 And his good wife with wool to wind. 
 It took the white monk in his cell, 
 It took the black monk and his kind 270 
 
 Who labour in the garth and dwell 
 Together in the cloister-bays ; 
 Upon gray friar and pied it fell, 
 
 Taking them suddenly in the ways. 
 
 It caught the outlaw on the heath, 275 
 
 And chokt the minstrel with his lays. 
 
 It left the throne and mow'd beneath ; 
 Its sword was pulpy in the shank 
 With English blood ; the more its teeth 
 
 Bit, the more thirstily it drank. 280 
 
 Men bore their own dead to the ditch 
 And heapt them there. The whole land 
 stank 
 
 Of death. Yet Hodge made out a hitch 
 Injustice, when this doom was done 
 That smote the poor, and spared the rich. 285 
 
 After the Enough of havoc ! When the sun 
 Death. Uprose and warmed this land again 
 
 Full half the souls were dead and gone 
 Who had wrought there, and wrought in vain. 
 Full half the souls were 'neath the sod, 290 
 Dead of the ruin and the rain ; 
 And when priests cried him turn to God, 
 Well might Hodge raise an impotent fist 
 Against this despot with the rod 
 
 71
 
 295 
 
 300 
 
 305 
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Who let the plague strike as it list. 
 Well might he give his flouted soul 
 
 To body's whim, live like a beast, 
 And lacking good cheer take to foul ! 
 
 And so he did, if we may trust 
 
 His chroniclers, who see him roll 
 And wallow in the stye of lust. 
 
 Sunk to the eyelids, a hog turned loose, 
 
 Chousing the cider in the must, 
 Easing his hot flesh in the stews 
 
 To lure his heart from fruitless sorrow. 
 
 What boots it, he might say, to muse 
 To-day, if I must die to-morrow ? 
 
 Let me cat and drink, as bids Saint Paul, 
 
 And leave the plow stuck in the furrow, 
 And let the ox starve in the stall. 
 
 And let the land go by the board ; 
 
 The King has half, let him have all. 
 So that a wilderness call him Lord ! 
 
 They know not Hodge, nor yet his land 
 
 In whose deep heart his own is stored; 315 
 They have not markt his careful hand 
 
 Feel knee and fetlock, nor his eye 
 
 Make loving cast o'er the thin sand 
 Or chalky slope where his goods lie. 
 
 They know him not who know not this, 320 
 
 His life is in his husbandry. 
 And where his life, there his God is. 
 
 There were ten patient and resign 'd 
 
 72 
 
 310
 
 THE BLACK PRINCE 
 
 For one who howled his blasphemies ; 
 And for one swilling sot you'ld find 325 
 
 A dozen serving of their saint. 
 
 Walking his way, no look behind. 
 No fear to look before, nor faint 
 
 At heart. The land, said they, is sick, 
 
 The beasts are starved. A saw half quaint 330 
 Half desperate gives their grim ethick : 
 
 " If ifs and huts were apples and nuts " — 
 
 So runs it trippingly and quick — 
 " I'd sit at home and fill my guts." 
 
 And now a mercy forth from the evil 335 
 
 Rayeth, to help him cleanse his ruts ; 
 
 And God hath served Him of the Devil, 
 It seems ; for so the Plague works out, 
 The lords of land grow sudden civil, 
 
 And Hodge hath no more need to lout 340 
 
 And cadge for hire. The land is sere 
 For want of tillage. Turn about ! 
 
 Corn is dead cheap, and labour dear. 
 Since few there be to labour or buy ; 
 And vain for Bishop, King and Peer 345 
 
 With Commons men " Out, dogs ! " to cry. 
 Statutes of Labourers break no bones, 
 And breed no men the hoe to ply ; 
 
 Hodge is the master for the nones. 
 
 The villein is become the free ; 350 
 
 And now he hears the organ tones 
 
 73
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Of greater music — minstrelsy 
 
 By Bonaccord begun — which fills 
 The waiting land from sea to sea. 
 
 Hear Langland from his Malvern Hills, 355 
 Watching the Vale of Evesham brood. 
 So fair, so rich in river and rills. 
 
 Dimpled with pasture, plow and wood, 
 And lacking but the hearts of men ! 
 " Lord, who will show us any good ? " 360 
 
 Quoth he. One sounded even then 
 A message for the stricken ears. 
 Crying with voice and burning pen, 
 
 " Repent ye, for the Kingdom nears ! " 
 
 And as to clear good ground of weed 365 
 Men snatch the first fork that appears. 
 
 So this man wrought his work decreed. 
 Serving himself of John of Ghent : 
 Not the first Saint, nor last indeed, 
 
 To wield a dirty implement. 370 
 
 Wyclif, you had your torch alight 
 Wherewith to show our garment rent ; 
 
 And some in its beam stood to fight 
 Under your banner of Free Grace, 
 And other some obtained a sight 375 
 
 Of God in Heaven, and saw His face 
 Yprinted dark and stern of blee 
 Within the Book's calf-covered case. 
 
 I know not how these things may be, 
 
 74
 
 THE BLACK PRINCE 
 
 Nor to what men your gospel spoke, 380 
 Save that Hodge was not of them. He, 
 
 Ere many a ring embarkt the oak. 
 Cared nothing for the holy pages, 
 Until the sun of Wesley awoke 
 
 And blazed on him the Rock of Ages. 385 
 
 Rather he turned to Walsinghame 
 Or Glaston his drab pilgrimages, 
 
 Adored the Winking Rood, or came 
 Barefoot to saintly Thomas' shrine. 
 Or where King Edmund's pious name 390 
 
 Proclaims his town with him divine. 
 Yet this is true of you, brave priest, 
 You shook the law of Mine-and-Thine, 
 
 Judging the greatest by the least. 
 
 So to the headlands, in the lew 395 
 
 Where Hodge sat at his noonday feast, 
 
 This message came, so old, so new, 
 Sped by your preachers on the green : 
 The land's for all men, not for a few. 
 
 And he the slave of slaves, I ween, 400 
 
 Who makes himself his own villein, 
 Self-maddened like the Gadarenc. 
 
 As in the woodland after rain 
 
 The birds pipe a more liquid note, 
 
 So rising from his fever and pain 405 
 
 Tuneth good Hodge a mellower throat. 
 
 75
 
 BOOK V 
 
 RAGGED STAVES
 
 BOOK V : RAGGED STAVES 
 
 NOW, Crecy, is your fame forgotten, 
 Your Black Prince smothered up in 
 lead, 
 
 Your Edward gone, whose bones were rotten 
 Before his minion knew him dead. 
 
 Or robbed his fingers of the rings : 5 
 
 Now reigns King Richard in his stead. 
 To flare the ruinous wake of kings. 
 
 Starry at first, on meteor path, 
 
 He spurns the ground with his bright wings, 
 Earth for his washpot, air for his bath : 10 
 
 Of Edward's harvest he must mow 
 
 The whirlwind for his aftermath ; 
 Since in this world 'tis ordered so 
 
 That there is given to every wight 
 
 An instant's choice of weal or woe, 15 
 
 To take or lose, to snatch or slight, 
 
 And never another. 'Tis hit or miss, 
 
 As lovers know, who kiss at sight, 
 Or doubting courage never kiss. 
 
 You had your hour. Black Prince's son ; 20 
 
 79
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 England rued with you your lachess ; 
 
 But what's for him by whom 'twas done, 
 (O Chaucer, hearken Langland's ruth !) 
 Who left you end what was begun 
 
 To ease a fed man's pricking tooth ? 25 
 
 Such heritage succession bruises — 
 And the heirs paid for it, in sooth ! 
 
 Out in the lands the flying news is, 
 
 " They bleed us, neighbour, look to it ! 
 
 The King's men squeeze the stones for juices, 30 
 
 Take from our very mouth the bit." 
 Out in the lands among the sheep, 
 Or where men stoop to hoe the wheat, 
 
 Moving in file ; who as they creep 
 
 Pass on the word adown the line, 35 
 
 " What saith the Miller ? Doth he sleep ? 
 
 What saith John Ball ? Gives he no sign ? " 
 Be it cruddled frost or dripping thaw 
 The spell, be weather foul or fine. 
 
 Be blackbird fluting in the shaw, 40 
 
 Or wood pigeon with sudden clatter 
 Breaking from boughs, or querulous daw 
 
 Assailing daw with empty chatter ; 
 Not even when the North-West wind 
 Shrills on the headland, and a smattcr 45 
 
 Of snow skims on the iron rind 
 
 Wherein he needs must delve and swink, 
 
 80
 
 RAGGED STAVES 
 
 Hath Hodge a care ; nor doth he mind 
 The sullen gray of the snow-blink, 
 
 With sickly yellow for its lights : 50 
 
 On darker matter must he think, 
 More cruel than any frost that bites. 
 
 He hath a worm in his brain-pan 
 
 That spawns by day and breeds o' nights, 
 The lurking brute in every man 55 
 
 Which feeds on lust, and wakes to feed 
 
 When that the heart is stirred to fan 
 The blood to passion, rage or greed. 
 
 He had a flinty road to plod 
 
 Who let that beast wake up to its need. 60 
 Warm a man's heart, you move the God 
 
 To sing your pleasure as you mete it ; 
 
 Break a man's heart, and there's a clod 
 Shap't to your bidding as you beat it : 
 
 Wound a man's heart, you loose the brute 65 
 
 To tear your own heart out and eat it. 
 Hot blood surged upwards from the root 
 
 Of evil in him, a light scar 
 
 Turned to red rage from head to foot 
 Hodge, who is not a man of war, 70 
 
 And fights not, save with his own beast — 
 
 (An Ephesus is never far 
 From any son of woman, least 
 
 From one so vulnerably plann'd). 
 
 Hodge raises neither bill nor fist 75 
 
 81
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 On him who'd oust him from the land — 
 Nay, rather sets his teeth and thins 
 His Hps, and spits upon his hand, 
 
 And works the glebe ; and sometimes wins 
 His way by his dumb patience, 80 
 
 Incredible to weaker chins, 
 
 Or hotter heads, or quicker sense. 
 
 So they who grudge his land make Law 
 Their friend, on whose august pretence 
 
 They hold him, such his simple awe 85 
 
 Of custom and the Historic Present ! 
 He fits his judgment to a saw : 
 
 Possession's nine points. Such is the peasant 
 Who had land once, and now has none — 
 Not even the waste where crows the pheasant, 
 
 Nor the bare road where motors run. 91 
 
 Villein Now, in the day we are coming at, 
 
 artd¥i-ec With war's ill ending bad begun, 
 Hodge, it is said, was waxen fat. 
 
 His wages rising and corn falling ; 95 
 
 Yet there were men to make of that 
 More use than he, with no chain galling, 
 To tie them to a lord's pinfold — 
 Unlanded men at no lord's calling. 
 Who shifted, and their labour sold 100 
 
 Where money was best and work went faster; — 
 But waxing fat, like him of old, 
 
 82 
 
 Labourer.
 
 RAGGED STAVES 
 
 He flung, they say, and kickt his master. 
 
 I know not, I, how fat he waxt, 
 
 Where learnt to kick and court disaster : 105 
 He saw his neighbour's bonds relaxt, 
 
 His neighbour free to work or play, 
 
 Himself still bound to his vill and taxt 
 Because he held on his old way — 
 
 While Hob, become Free Labourer, no 
 
 Took his good four penny a day. 
 He loathed his bond, but could not stir 
 
 While bondage was the parchment scrip ; 
 
 Yet he snufft freedom in the air. 
 And felt great words light on the lip — 115 
 
 Blown to a flame by thee, John Ball, 
 
 Prentice of Francis' fellowship — 
 Which cried the land the fee of all. 
 
 Master and man, and cat and mouse. 
 
 With God for squire and Heaven for hall, 120 
 And Hodge within his wattled house 
 
 (Since Adam delved and Eva span) 
 
 Lord of his mess of beans and souse 
 As of his haunch my gentleman. 
 
 For why! The good Lord gave the earth 125 
 
 Profit to be of him who can 
 Best husbandry ; of such broad girth 
 
 No man need shun the swing of Fate : 
 
 Let a man work, then face with mirth 
 His present enemy in the gate. 130 
 
 83
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Out on the air like fumes of wine 
 Which fill the nose and fire the brain 
 
 Floated the sense of love divine 
 
 Which had made man in his own shape, 
 And set no bounds of Mine and Thine 135 
 
 Whereby the wastrel might escape 
 The burden of his goliardise, 
 Or where God lookt for man plant ape. 
 
 This land set in her cloudy seas 
 
 Consider now as full of tongues i.^o 
 
 Whose words are carried on the breeze 
 
 Afield and shape themselves in songs 
 Throbbing responsive to the plow, 
 Or scattering fireflakes as the prongs 
 
 Toss reeking dung ; " Come, tell me now, 145 
 When Adam delved and Eva span. 
 Who was lord and who was theow. 
 
 And where was then the gentleman ? 
 And who's my lord drives me afield ? 
 And where am I left in his plan ? 150 
 
 He takes the chrism. Unannealed 
 Go I, with scrapings of the pot. 
 Dishwater, parings of the peeled 
 
 Fruit, by my pains and ordering got ! " 
 
 The song soared high, fierce ran the speech 155 
 From green to green, from knot to knot 
 
 Of gaunt-eyed men. Let bishops preach 
 Peace upon earth ! Plain men will wink. 
 
 84
 
 RAGGED STAVES 
 
 It skills not temperance to teach 
 To him still drunk with last night's drink. i6o 
 
 Now gathered men in ragged bands 
 
 And raised a chant to make them think 
 Who had drained the green sap from the lands. 
 
 " With whom d'ye hold ? " it ran. *' Grind 
 small ! 
 
 Trust ye John Schep, with us he'll stand. 165 
 Our day is coming, quoth John Ball." 
 
 " Let Jack now turn his miln aright," 
 
 It said, " the Lord shall pay for all. 
 Let skill serve will and right win might ; 
 
 But if right lose, God greet you well, 170 
 
 Then is our miln all misadight. 
 Yet wit you, John hath rung the bell : 
 
 Take you the tidings ; fly, lad, fly ! " 
 
 Far and wide, o'er field and fell, 
 As leaves arc caught it whirled on high ; 175 
 
 In every market-chafFerer 
 
 A hot thought lit from eye to eye. 
 They held their courts of Piepowder, 
 
 But little guessed what dusty feet 
 
 Ere long would tramp by London tower 180 
 And drag out Canterbury to meet 
 
 The woe he had dealt, not meaning ill. 
 
 Being a fool and not a cheat. 
 Over the fleeces at Weyhill, 
 
 At Oxford for Saint Frideswide, 185 
 
 8s
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Across the Fens wherefrom men fill 
 Saint Giles's fair at Lammastide, 
 
 The flying word streamed like a star 
 
 That breaks from Heaven, and fiery-eyed 
 Holds the earth breathless. Wide and far 190 
 
 It flew afield, and tinged the mind 
 
 With the red nutriment of war. 
 It dried the soul, as a hot wind 
 
 Withers a heath to kindling-wood. 
 
 And soon that panting land and blind 195 
 
 Is sheeted in a roaring flood 
 
 Of flame which flies a ragged mane. 
 
 And races, ravening for food, 
 Leaving behind it a black plain. 
 
 PollTax, This was the stroke that fired the stacks 200 
 1378- Of kindling stored in Hodge's brain : 
 
 To pay their war they set a tax 
 
 On every head the country through. 
 On lesser as on broader backs ; 
 And finding little gain, anew 205 
 
 They plied the assise with sharper zest 
 For girl unreckoned, old wife too. 
 Or baby nozzling for the breast ; 
 And found their foreign war apaid 
 In opening up a hornet's nest. 210 
 
 For as one suddenly dismayed 
 Looks at his own familiar place 
 
 86
 
 RAGGED STAVES 
 
 Aghast, and cries, " I am betrayed ! " 
 To ease, if not his heart, his face — 
 
 From Hob to Lob the message flies 215 
 
 Of injury in a common case. 
 A flare of red across the eyes, 
 
 A swelling neck, or back a-bristle. 
 
 And kings are wary if they are wise. 
 And send a smooth priest with an epistle 220 
 
 To promise remedy for wrongs. 
 
 But Redeless Richard whet his whistle 
 
 For braver notes than John Ball's songs, 
 
 Fobbing in And scnt a Justice down to Fobbing, 
 
 Essex, ^Q whom Hodge spake — but not with 
 
 1381. * ^ 
 
 tongues. 225 
 
 Bampton, Commissioner, came tax-jobbing. 
 And Essex met him, armed with bills. 
 Bampton must needs give over his robbing, 
 
 i\nd take, first fright, and then to his heels. 
 Down came Trailbaston and my Lord 230 
 
 To learn what like a drubbing feels ; 
 
 And Hodge drew blood, with scythe for sword, 
 And raised a pale head on a pike. 
 First standard for his ragged horde 
 
 Whereof this land knew not the like 235 
 
 Until that day. And now afield, 
 Essex across the river-dyke 
 
 Calls Kent to arms. Out in the Weald 
 They cut the hav ; but now the scythe 
 
 87
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Has redder work. The tocsin pealed 24.0 
 
 Over the water to Greenhithe 
 
 Runs faster than king's messenger. 
 
 It rings an end to tcind and tithe 
 And rocks the keep of Rochester. 
 
 CrawHng they mass, and Hkc a tide 245 
 
 Float over land the scum and scour, 
 The ofFal of the magnified. 
 
 Waste of their waste, and excrement 
 
 Of their consumed place and pride. 
 After the Castle the Church went, 250 
 
 And after Church went monastery ; 
 
 And Hodge in Surrey as in Kent 
 Learnt one good use of seigniory. 
 
 Which cools the blood by blood-shedding. 
 
 They braved the Mass at Canterbury ; 255 
 
 And now the Wearer of the Ring 
 
 Hears himself called for by harsh throats — 
 
 " Give us out Judas, the foul thing 
 That sold his Lord for a handful of groats ! " 
 
 Out of the West and out of the Fast 260 
 
 The tide of rage rises, and floats 
 A sea of drab as thick as mist, 
 
 With here and there an angry head 
 
 Uptost, and here and there a fist ; 
 And like a drowning withy-bed 265 
 
 The pikes dip as the sea of blood 
 
 Surges and creams — and drab is red. 
 
 88
 
 RAGGED STAVES 
 
 Bury. The Prior of Bury took to the wood, 
 
 And Candish, Lord Chief Justice, ran : 
 There swayed a boat upon the flood, 270 
 
 A woman held it, stern and wan. 
 
 She pusht it out, with " Swim, dog, swim ! " 
 And so they got him, a writhen man 
 
 Biting his nails. The end was grim 
 
 When the Prior was caught in his own clips. 
 Laid for poachers, they took hifn ; 276 
 
 And Land and Church seal fellowships 
 When Prior and Justice hob and nob 
 Pike high, and dead lips kiss dead lips 
 
 And make mad mirth for a louting mob, 280 
 
 The which, if spilt blood taught it revel. 
 From higher heads had learnt its job, 
 
 And a man's kinship with the devil. 
 And so in Bury's market place 
 Found Bury's reverend lord his level. 285 
 
 Yet marvel is his foes found space 
 To remedy the ills that turned them 
 From serfs to beasts. To mend their case 
 
 They dragged the charters out and burned them 
 Which made them so ; and whom they slew 290 
 Were they who first enslaved, then spurned 
 them — 
 
 The lawyers that the charters drew, 
 The jurors of the cruel assise. 
 And all his friends who backt that crew, 
 
 89
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 John of Gaunt's of the dead-fish eyes. 295 
 
 And this red work done, and this ridding, 
 Hodge, England over, " London ! " cries. 
 
 With one consent, on no man's bidding. 
 Like a tide gathering weed and scum, 
 From tithing, hamlet and lone steading 300 
 
 The ragged legions surge and hum : 
 Full half of England on the road 
 To tell the King occasion's come. 
 
 " John the Miller hath ygroiind sj?iall^ 
 The Kings Son of Heaven shall pay for all. 305 
 Beware or ye be wo., 
 Know your friend from your foe : 
 Have enough and say Ho ! 
 And so we bid you call''' 
 
 310 
 
 child of ruth, now like a God, 
 
 And now a shell for fiends to inhabit ! 
 Who bring to the stress a broken rod. 
 
 You had your hour but would not grab it. 
 
 Nay, you were pledged. Your faith you 
 
 broke. 
 Hodge opens you his heart. You stab it. 315 
 
 For in these days of blood and smoke, 
 Of fire and shout, of singing bands. 
 When London streets are chockablock 
 
 With gaunt fierce faces and toss'd hands, 
 
 90
 
 RAGGED STAVES 
 
 And royal Savoy falls to dust 320 
 
 Before the flame, and nothing stands 
 
 Wherein you have been taught to trust — 
 What do you make of your kingship, 
 O child of ruth, but what you must ? 
 
 A moment's glory of the lip, 325 
 
 A moment's vision — then both pass. 
 And you have let occasion slip. 
 
 And misery is as misery was ! 
 
 1381. Yet paid his poll-tax with his poll 
 
 Legge the arch-thief ; now at his Mass 330 
 
 Fell Canterbury, condemned to toll 
 
 With his heart's blood and strung entrails 
 The passage of his craven soul ; 
 
 Now last the moneyer, Robber Hales, 
 
 Fell battered by the Ragged Staves ; 335 
 
 And three gray heads on three wet pales 
 
 Stared at the fires thro' glazed eye-caves. 
 Ere you, King Richard, kist the shrine 
 And went to meet your rebel slaves. 
 
 Lo, dusty air in summer shine ! 340 
 
 Banners in Smithfield's grassy space. 
 The hordes in drab, the white Ensign 
 
 When Hodge and King are face to face. 
 And then the sudden flash you had 
 Which was your instant's hint of grace ! 345 
 
 If you seemed spirit more than lad, 
 
 91
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 A spirit of fire, a son of light, 
 
 Thro' whose clear skin the blood throbb'd glad, 
 Blame not your dupes who heard your bright 
 
 Clarion, "With whom d'ye serve ? Par Dieu^ 
 
 I am your leader ! " Fool, what spite 351 
 
 Made you a liar ? Had you been true 
 
 And they free as you promised, say, 
 
 Had England not been glad of you ? 
 God knows you paid ! And so did they 355 
 
 Who took your word, and on your bail 
 
 Gave over victory on the day 
 When it was theirs, that they might hail 
 
 A King of the English — for an hour ! — 
 
 Who had Occasion by the tail 360 
 
 And loosen'd hold in midmost stour 
 
 To lord it King of England still. 
 
 Until a starker wrest the power 
 And drain your blood to drive his mill. 
 
 And as for Hodge, bctray'd, befool'd, 365 
 
 Let him get back to field and vill, 
 Adone with warring, his blood cool'd, 
 
 His swords turned sickles, and his clubs 
 
 Flails, while the wheels he over-rul'd 
 Grind him again, and sluice their hubs 37c 
 
 And slake their heat in blood of men. 
 
 He earns a drubbing who half drubs. 
 
 92
 
 BOOK VI 
 
 DRENCHED ROSES
 
 BOOK VI: DRENCHED ROSES 
 
 L 
 
 Kings. f ORD, what is man that for one's sake 
 
 Ten thousand more should stab and 
 bleed. 
 
 And twice ten thousand hearts go ache 
 Ere he can slack his lickerous need 
 
 Of sceptre, crown and ermine cope 5 
 
 For garnish of him ? What indeed 
 Pretender, King, Pope, Antipope 
 
 To us, each girt by his own cage. 
 
 Despot in his own cinctured scope, 
 Each with his private wars to wage ? lo 
 
 Must he that hath the call of love 
 
 Upon him, or a holy rage 
 The stubborn creaking plow to shove 
 
 Thro' stony acres, bread to win. 
 
 Let it all go, made nothing of, 15 
 
 While Edward of March be out or in, 
 
 Or Henry doubtful on his perch. 
 
 Or Charles a Saint or Man of Sin ? 
 O God of Nature-out"of-church, 
 
 How long wilt Thou let three or four 20 
 
 In Thy Name leave the rest alurch ? 
 
 95
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 1399- When Richard's crown King Henry wore 
 1461. Fared England better ? Or when he 
 
 Gave up the realm he had bargained for 
 And a fifth Henry took the fee, 25 
 
 How stood she then, a dicer's throw 
 
 For ruffling gamesters oversea ? 
 Young men were taken from the plow 
 
 And taught to play their wild-cat tricks, 
 
 To scam with hate an open brow, 30 
 
 And serve the end of politics, 
 
 Which is to line your nest rookwise 
 
 By filching of another's sticks ! 
 The joy of the knees, the pride of the eyes. 
 
 The call of the reins which lures us on 35 
 
 To find an earthly paradise 
 Where man and maid are knit in one — 
 
 Whose is this life that we must throw it 
 
 Mere tribute to some mother's son ? 
 Teach us man's worth, that we may know it, 40 
 
 Who, being alone in power to lift 
 
 Above his nature, sinks below it ! 
 If kings are nought, men have no shift 
 
 To know them so, who have no voice 
 
 In making kings, themselves adrift, 45 
 
 Marshall'd and handled like the toys 
 
 Of chess-players. On kings' demands 
 
 They make of shame a witless choice. 
 Dipping in shame their hireling hands, 
 
 96
 
 DRENCHED ROSES 
 
 Crying out shame with bidden breath. 50 
 
 Lo, in their fire the Maiden stands ! 
 And lo ! they hound her to her death, 
 
 And end a century's brigandage, 
 
 Themselves a prey to the brigands' teeth. 
 'Twixt Holland's greed and Warwick's rage, 55 
 
 'Twixt Tiptoft's craft and Suffolk's guile 
 
 Slipt in the Merchant of his age, 
 The King with budded lips asmile 
 
 And eyes aglitter for his meat. 
 
 Who egg'd the vile to bite the vile, 60 
 
 And watcht them grapple from his seat 
 
 On high, and leisurely, with his hook, 
 
 Fisht in their lordships, and made feat 
 His bed with stolen wool ; and took 
 
 Shore's wife, the fat and smooth and white, 65 
 
 To be his joy. — While England shook 
 Yet from the brunt of men in fight, 
 
 And Henry died alone and mad, 
 
 In larded women his delight 
 This sleek and prosperous tradesman had. 70 
 
 How shall I sing that strife of thieves ? 
 
 When thieves fall out wise men are glad, 
 And set to making up their sheaves. 
 
 Upon the ruins of his house 
 
 Sits Edward, and the County Reeves 75 
 
 Find not their office onerous ; 
 
 For never a Parliament has he 
 
 97 H
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Since county lords played cat and mouse ; 
 But rules as snug as fish in the sea, 
 
 Despot and heedless, without peers, 80 
 
 With crooked Richard presently 
 To watch the chicks his pale wife rears 
 
 To carry on his name and line. 
 
 What shall they carry on but tears ? 
 1450. Poor Jack Mend-all, it was not thine, 85 
 
 With Men of Kent to nerve thy knees, 
 
 To disengage the tortured twine 
 Of England's heart-strings, tho' thy pleas 
 
 Brought battle over London Bridge 
 
 And hanged Lord Say ! This land's disease 90 
 Call'd for a knife, and not a midge. 
 
 To let bad blood, not to inflame 
 
 The sick tissues of Privilege ; 
 And ere thy day of reckoning came, 
 
 Poor Jack, with twist not to be mended, 95 
 
 The Lords were at each other's wame. 
 And so the Norman's line is ended. 
 
 And Magna Carta swampt in gall. 
 
 And the long-legg'd King's wit expended 
 In vain, who hoped to build a wall 100 
 
 'Twixt greedy vassals and their prey ! 
 
 For now's no Parliament at all ; 
 And all are gone the burning way 
 
 Of hate and grudge ; and once again 
 
 The King is up in lonely sway, 105 
 
 98
 
 DRENCHED ROSES 
 
 And a new Conqueror's come to reign 
 By little but a sword's pretence, 
 1485- Crown'd in the field, with Crouchback slain. 
 
 Ho Jge an^ Good Hodgc, who work, not stab, for pence, 
 de Rosa. ^^^ munch your bacon on the down, no 
 
 Your masters cry your common sense 
 And own you honest, tho' a clown. 
 
 Say they. He's temperate, he's chaste. 
 
 He loves a wife, tho' she's his own ; 
 He works the day through which we waste, 115 
 
 Splaying abroad like gadding bramble : 
 
 What more would he have, with virtues braced 
 'Gainst lack of substance, sans preamble 
 
 Of privilege his ills to cure .? 
 
 True 'tis you hire no man to gamble, 120 
 
 Prove your black white or bastard pure ; 
 
 Nor if you tempt the Deadly Seven 
 
 Have you the wherewithal to insure 
 That what you do shall not be given 
 
 Against you in a latter bill 125 
 
 When they cast up accounts in Heaven. 
 To you, then, England's England still 
 
 The' trampling knights break down your closes. 
 
 The sun comes up behind the hill 
 While Warwick crowns one or deposes 130 
 
 As battle swings. With earth to fight, . 
 
 You had no lot with the drencht Roses. 
 
 99
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 1455, When in Saint Albans Henry pight 
 May 21. pj-g i^anner, and the gutters drank, 
 
 Full May was in, all flower-bedight, 135 
 
 And Hodge a-sowing of the brank 
 
 Out in the strips of champion-ground. 
 Or waist-deep in the marshes rank. 
 Ridded the gutters. Anon came round 
 
 His friendly foe, grown masterful, 140 
 
 Burnt him his wheat, and harvest crown'd 
 1460, His fighting year — while Nene ran full, 
 July 10. ^^^ j.j^^|. ^^g done in half an hour 
 
 Which twice ten years could not annul. 
 Dec. 30. In the dark day by Wakefield tower 145 
 
 When York, ta'en like a fish in a net. 
 Lost his fond head, and had his power 
 Mockt in a paper coronet. 
 
 Below his pallid blood-stuck brow 
 Grinning in death the teams were set '5° 
 
 Beyond the walls — that Hodge might plow. 
 March Or Towton Field by Ferrybridge, 
 
 ^9- That Feast of Palms 'mid whirling snow — 
 
 How stood the township on the ridge ? 
 
 Serv'd they the Mass in Saxton ? Nay, 155 
 They heard the din with scarce a fidge 
 Of shoulder, or a wink that way ! 
 No man of Hodge's kin sped shaft 
 Or pusht a pike in that affray. 
 1464* And when in Heaven the glad sun laup^ht 160 
 
 May 15. ^ ^ 
 
 100
 
 DRENCHED ROSES 
 
 And glitter'd in the Devil's Water, 
 
 Where many a lord drank his death-draught. 
 
 And drain'd was Rene's haggard daughter, 
 The hills about were white with sheep. 
 And the larks thrill'd above the slaughter. 165 
 H7i» Across the land the slow days creep ; 
 '^^^ ^^' Another spring is in ; the mist 
 
 Smothers the pastures where must keep 
 
 Warwick, Kingmaker, his last tryst. 
 
 Him he put up, and now would down, 170 
 Proves himself stauncher agonist. 
 May 14. And strikes a blow by Tewkesbury town 
 Which ends the Roses' biting match, 
 And leaves him lonely in his crown. 
 
 Enough ! The evil viper-hatch 175 
 
 Spawn'd by the Black Snake of Anjou 
 Is well-nigh spent. Upon the latch 
 
 Time sets his hand, to flood with new 
 Large air the stiving cloister-garth 
 Wherein, friend Hodge, they hobbled you. 180 
 
 You stand up free upon your hearth, 
 Adone with boones and such old gear ; 
 You shelter in your own poor barth. 
 
 You work your way from year to year ; 
 
 And work is plenty, well apaid, 185 
 
 The seasons generous, corn not dear. 
 
 Well may you court your blue-ey'd maid 
 And teach her how to make a man ; 
 
 lOI
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 The God of Nature finds that trade 
 Better than butchery for His plan. 190 
 
 Yet there are signs to give you pause 
 
 If you have w^herew^ithal to scan 
 Cause in effect, effect in cause. 
 
 Signs. What think you of this craw^ling sea 
 
 Of grass that yearly narrower draws 195 
 
 The cantle left to husbandry ; 
 
 And as the shecpwalks come to grips 
 With tilth, wherein your labour's fee, 
 
 How shall you guard your acre-strips 
 
 While the flock masters wax apace ? 200 
 
 And what within you's in eclipse. 
 
 And where is now the morning grace 
 You felt of old when Bonaccord 
 Came with the glory on his face. 
 
 The light of Mary and her Lord ? 205 
 
 Where is the truth which Langland cried, 
 That Doing will save and not the Word ? 
 
 Once you had that, and more beside. 
 And hoarded it like secret pelf, 
 The which a man, if ill betide, 210 
 
 Might slip within the mantel-shelf, 
 A little store of ultimate gold 
 Wherewith to feed and warm himself. 
 
 And now the thing is stale and old ; 
 
 Your rickety gods creak in the cranks 215 
 
 102
 
 DRENCHED ROSES 
 
 Which set them wink ; your shrines arc cold, 
 Your angels in their painted ranks 
 
 Are flaking ; mildew and the worm 
 
 Are busy with their spindle-shanks : 
 So all such gear must find its term ! 220 
 
 See your gross monks behind their walls, 
 
 Fed neighing horses, high with sperm, 
 Kissing kept wantons in their stalls, 
 
 With all their lands let out to hire. 
 
 And all their parchments black with galls. 225 
 O barren land, once hearts' desire, 
 
 Dead Gods and dead religionists ! 
 
 Where is a man to bring new fire 
 And burn these muck-heaps, rend these mists ? 
 
 He is at hand ; but you, my Hodge, 230 
 
 Were never much for monks and priests. 
 They come and go, but you don't budge ; 
 
 Lip-service to the altar-flame 
 
 And censer-smoke you givc^ but judge 
 The chief of Saints is him you name 235 
 
 Old Use-and-Wont, which was and is. 
 
 And is to come, always the same. 
 And find you Caxton's trade amiss 
 
 In Westminster, where with his types 
 
 He'll reel you books out of a press 240 
 
 As fast as you can warm your tripes 
 
 With nappy ale ? Consider well 
 
 Of his invention over your swipes, 
 
 103
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 If it will stop at books to sell, 
 
 Or news to sell — or trade in lies, 245 
 
 Having found out a foecal smell 
 May be the best of merchandise ? 
 
 Foresee the Masters of the Bray, 
 
 Merchants of clamour and greedy eyes, 
 And the young men who take their pay 250 
 
 And buzz and trumpet carrion, 
 
 Dungflies at a ha'p'ny a day. 
 Before you'd seal what Caxton's done. 
 
 I think had he the gift to see 
 
 His labour's end, he had tied a stone 255 
 
 About his neck and sought the sea, 
 
 He and his press, and so deserv'd 
 
 Better of men, it well may be. 
 
 Half Four hundred years since Harold swerved 
 ^^y. At Senlac ! A new conqueror 260 
 
 ^'^ Stands where the Norman's bow uncurved, 
 
 Adone with thieving maskt as war. 
 Four hundred years are yet to fill 
 Ere Hodge stand at the open door 
 1884. Of Parliament, and foot the sill 265 
 
 Past which the limits of his hold 
 May be enlarg'd to what he will. 
 Not towers nor circlets of bought gold 
 Hath he in need, nor shall he find; 
 But portion in the weald and wold 270 
 
 104
 
 DRENCHED ROSES 
 
 Where he hath wrought time out of mind. 
 His gaunt hillside, his stony fields, 
 His trees distorted by the wind. 
 
 The swept white grasses, the rough bields 
 
 Of rock which stand for bower and byre, 275 
 His endlong toil and his thin yields — 
 
 These are the bourn of his desire, 
 Bought by a toll of sweat and tears. 
 Bought by his wrong and shameful hire 
 
 Through twice four hundred stricken years. 280 
 I look and see the end of it. 
 How fair the well-lov'd land appears ; 
 
 I see September's misty heat 
 
 Laid like a swooning on the corn ; 
 
 I see the reaping of the wheat, 285 
 
 I hear afar the hunter's horn ; 
 I see the cattle in the ford. 
 The panting sheep beneath the thorn ! 
 
 The burden of the years is scor'd, 
 
 The reckoning made, Hodge walks alone, 290 
 Content, contenting, his own lord, 
 
 Master of what his pain has won. 
 Grant me to reckon and rejoice, 
 And be thou there to say. Well done, 
 
 O wellspring of my singing voice! 295 
 
 105
 
 I
 
 BOOK VII 
 
 THE DESPOTS
 
 BOOK VII : THE DESPOTS 
 
 Bring rue and hyssop to asperge 
 The chantry-tomb of bygone years 1 
 Unto my song^ become a dirge^ 
 
 O Fount of Pity ^ lend thy tears : 
 
 King Richard^ fall at Bosivorth rang 
 A people's death^ to wakeful ears. 
 
 1485, T|^ tOW Sirius has bared his fang 
 August. I^k I Over the earth, and on the rim 
 
 X ^ Of the burnt acres ominous hang 
 
 The flickering air-waves ; sight is dim 
 
 And breath a labouring while Hodge reaps 5 
 The wheat, and his girl after him 
 
 Bends to the flatten'd swathes and heaps 
 The golden armfuls into stocks. 
 The work goes on while the sun creeps 
 
 Atop the hill of noon ; then hooks 10 
 
 And sickles lie beside the sheaf. 
 And men turn to the water-brooks. 
 
 O silent days of winking leaf 
 
 And swooning hillside, when the birds 
 
 Are dumb, and Reynard the arch-thief 15 
 
 Lies grinning at the huddled herds ! 
 
 109
 
 20 
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Rest in the thicket, man and wife, 
 Drink deep your mess of whey and curds, 
 
 And watch askance the tide of Hfe 
 
 Brim to the flood. There, in the shade. 
 Your lad and lass with hot thought rife ! 
 
 Her smock reveals her budded maid 
 And draws his manhood to her bosom : 
 Now let him woo, nor be afraid 
 
 To judge himself the microcosm ; 25 
 
 For all the kingdoms of this earth 
 Shall not afford him fairer blossom 
 
 Than maidenhead for manhood's worth. 
 And now's his time, ere kings put in 
 Rude commentary on rustic mirth ! 30 
 
 Another harvest is to win ; 
 
 And northerly, across the shires. 
 On Radmore Plain the battle din 
 Drives Richard after his dead sires, 
 Henry And makcs your master one who knew 35 
 
 ^'^^- To wait upon his own desires. 
 
 And treat no man as false or true, 
 But so much handsel for his grist, 
 Held (as a Christian by a Jew) 
 Blasphemer or co-religionist 40 
 
 According as conditions fare. 
 Here thrones the Tudor as he list, 
 With his poucht eyes and wisps of hair, 
 
 I lo
 
 THE DESPOTS 
 
 Over the ruins of dead things, 
 
 And raking for his profit there 45 
 
 To found a despot Hne of kings ; 
 
 With Httle of Gaunt except his guile, 
 
 But wit enough to take the swings 
 Of Fortune without surge of bile — 
 
 He saved that for his son to spend 50 
 
 Along with his heapt money-pile. 
 This was a man without a friend, 
 
 A ruthless man, and yet a just, 
 
 Who had a broken realm to mend 
 And gave it peace, and won its trust 5 5 
 
 Because he serv'd it with his brains. 
 
 And eas'd his own thro' others' lust. 
 But as a land sick with long rains 
 
 Teems in the embraces of the sun, 
 
 And feels his jet in all her veins 60 
 
 Like fire and wine a glad course run, 
 
 So that the soakt and staring sod 
 
 Glows to a resurrection. 
 And every tree of flowering rod 
 
 At every joint puts out a knop 65 
 
 Until in living green the wood 
 Is garmented from stem to top — 
 The New Now burgeon'd out this island realm 
 Way. In factory and school and shop. 
 
 Great ships deck-loaded to the helm 70 
 
 Brought in Venetian spicery, 
 
 1 1 1
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 And took back wool enough to whelm 
 
 The world in fleeces oversea ; 
 
 But other kinds of ware than these 
 
 Men cheapen'd from Low Germany : 7S 
 
 Erasmus with his quiddities 
 
 Of God and Fate and man's Free Will, 
 What time he tastes the world as 'tis 
 
 At high tables, and finds it still 
 
 Most tolerable, for the tolerant. 80 
 
 Now Greek comes in for who has skill, 
 
 And readings in the Testament, 
 
 Of whether Faith will save, or Works ! 
 The Orient floods the Occident, 
 
 With Byzaunce fallen to the Turks ; 85 
 
 Luther unlimbers tongue and pen 
 To sear what evil remnant lurks 
 
 Of the fond dreams of ancient men — 
 But little enough have such to say 
 To Hodge seed-sowing in his fen. 90 
 
 The Old Hodge labours on his antick way, 
 Way. Working his strips of champion land : 
 
 He plows, he sows, he teds his hay, 
 He swims his mead with river-sand ; 
 
 He pastures on the common grass 95 
 
 Week in and out ; he cannot stand 
 To see the questing carvels pass 
 Before the wind, a glory of white 
 
 1 12
 
 THE DESPOTS 
 
 Upon the gray sea's emptiness ; 
 
 Or watch them top the edge of light loo 
 
 And be no more than a wandering name 
 Heard in the day and lost at night. 
 
 To him the West wind brought no fame 
 Of Greenland or still Labrador, 
 When Cabot home to Bristol came 105 
 
 And the old world knew one world more ; 
 His heart beat not to hear the horn 
 Shrill from the East the open door. 
 
 Clouted and patcht, a shred forlorn 
 
 Pickt from the earth, as from the rib no 
 
 Of the first man was woman born. 
 
 There stand you, fibre of the glebe, 
 The very hue and savour of it. 
 With beast and bird and flower sib ! 
 
 The lords of the world will make their profit 115 
 Of you and yours ; but like a gland 
 You hold a juice, and cannot doff it, 
 
 The sweet secretion of the land. 
 
 New men rise up, the fortune-makers. 
 
 And buy your heavy foot and hand ; 120 
 
 You are computed with the acres, 
 But you abide, and they must go. 
 The hatchment of the undertakers 
 
 The only title they can show 
 
 That once they lorded it as stout 
 As any sinner here below. 
 
 125
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 So you withstood the flurry and rout 
 Of shifting lordships and new squires, 
 Prepar'd to pull the lock devout 
 To whom obeisance requires : 130 
 
 Yet these new men might well awaken 
 Old Use-and-Wont to new desires ! 
 Neio Gresham and Paget, Russell, Bacon 
 Men. Take place of Scales and Tibetot ; 
 
 Cavendish wins of Ros forsaken, 135 
 
 And Cecil adds to what he had got ; 
 Boleyn is rising to be a lord ; 
 Grosvenor is rich and Scrope is not. 
 Riches need funding ; soon the hoard 
 
 Is buried in your English soil : 14.0 
 
 Your new squire, Hodge, seeks new reward, 
 A quicker answer than your toil. 
 
 " Leave plowing to the faint-wit school, 
 Adone with tenants and turmoil 
 Who cheat their lord and call him fool 145 
 
 For being easy ! I'm for sheep, 
 Turn all to grass and breed me wool." 
 Enclo- Before you know it grass-lands creep 
 sures. About you, and the hedgerows lean 
 
 To fence you in : then, " What's to reap ? 150 
 And what do these on my demesne t 
 Who is this empty-handed shirker ? 
 And whose this hovel on my green t " 
 So here is Hob, who was a worker, 
 
 114
 
 THE DESPOTS 
 
 Thrown out to skulk along the ditch, 155 
 
 A broken man, a hedgerow lurker. 
 His children thieves, his wife a bitch ; 
 
 A scab upon the Commonwealth, 
 
 Prick of an everlasting itch 
 Which neither Boards of Public Health, 160 
 
 Nor Trade, nor Local Government, 
 
 Nor soft hearts doing good by stealth, 
 Nor pulpit summons to repent. 
 
 Nor docketings of chronic cases 
 
 Can stay from miserable vent. 165 
 
 Open your hearts, not save your faces. 
 
 Or there'll be brisker work to-morrow. 
 
 Snug gentlemen with country places ! 
 
 Old Henry goes, to no man's sorrow. 
 
 Young Henry comes with high fanfare, 170 
 And like a fed horse spurns the furrow ; 
 
 He must be serv'd with love or war. 
 He takes his fill of knightly frays, 
 Prancings in Flanders or Navarre ; 
 
 And as for women. Rumour says 175 
 
 He never had one to his mind 
 Though he had twice-three wedding-days. 
 
 Here was a prince of Nero's kind 
 Who loved his lust, yet must be sure 
 He had the waiting world behind 180 
 
 To cry him up its cynosure. 
 
 115
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Slave of his own abounding zest, 
 
 He hunted every Uckerous lure, 
 Hailing the latest for the best, 
 
 And knotting as he went the strands 185 
 
 Of Fate about him, till his quest 
 Brought him within unlikely hands, 
 
 And saw the old Faith's young Defender 
 
 Harnest in Luther's rebel bands. 
 A priest he had for mischief-mender, 190 
 
 To justify his tyrant's work, 
 
 A priest who on foundation slender 
 Built himself Cardinal of York, 
 
 And feasted high ; yet lookt for higher 
 
 Employment for his knife and fork. 195 
 
 Lo ! on the brink of his desire. 
 
 With one foot in the gates of Rome, 
 
 Back he must come, on shameful hire. 
 To serve his master's turn at home, 
 1529. And pack a Parliament to show 200 
 
 A parting of the ways was come. 
 " The Pope denies me ! Let him go. 
 
 Henceforth in England shall be none." 
 
 The Parliament in puppet-row 
 Jigg'd to that sounding tune set on, 205 
 
 And crying " Out upon the Pope ! " 
 
 Contriv'd King Henry should be one. 
 1534. Head of the Church ! Alas, the scope 
 
 Of that great place involved no saint, 
 
 116
 
 THE DESPOTS 
 
 But very man coil'd up in rope 210 
 
 Of his own fleshly argument ! 
 
 Little knew Hodge of kings' high needs, 
 
 But with kings' itch was soon acquaint. 
 When Catherine pines and Boleyn bleeds, 
 
 And Cardinal York gives up two crosses 215 
 
 To take that one which he who leads 
 Apes down to Hell deserves — these losses 
 
 Glare mockery on the homely text 
 
 Whereof Saint Use has scored the glosses 
 Observ'd by Hodge. Hodge is perplext 220 
 
 By scorn of good Queen Catherine. 
 
 She is the King's wife, and this next 
 Shall be for him the Concubine. 
 
 Is our hot King a wanton's lover .? 
 
 It matters little. She is fine, 225 
 
 Madness lies in the kissing of her, 
 
 And she may get the Crown an heir ; 
 
 Therefore let statesmanship discover 
 The way to bed — and put her there. 
 
 But see now what ensues : the check 230 
 
 Of Cardinal York and his affair ; 
 The King a Pope, and Boleyn's neck 
 
 To expiate her womb's disaster ; 
 
 But more, the Abbeys go to wreck. 
 
 The The King is hot, the pace grows faster: 235 
 
 ^elatt ^° your ways, Abbot, go your ways ! 
 
 117
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 For Hodge 'tis but a change of master ; 
 For you, you've had your golden days. 
 
 He sees you go without a sigh, 
 
 Giving you neither blame nor praise : 2+0 
 
 Not after you need he outcry, 
 
 For you were lord and he was lout ; 
 
 And he had other fish to fry. 
 For when you put your broad lands out 
 
 To who would yield you highest profit, 245 
 
 You put your lordliness in doubt 
 And laid it in his mind to scofF it. 
 
 Who must pay him to whom you had sold 
 
 And get no groatsworth vantage of it, 
 Save a new lord besides an old. 250 
 
 You and your times were out of joint, 
 
 My Abbot ; zeal was more than cold ; 
 Your habit serv'd not to anoint. 
 
 Your monk was Uttle but a hood. 
 
 And underneath a dog — at point. 255 
 
 Away with Gracedieu, Holy Rood, 
 
 Champfleurs, Val Crucis, names like balms 
 
 Wherewith some man adorn'd his God 
 As one would do himself an alms 
 
 By hanging fond words on his dear — 260 
 
 A fallen God can cause no qualms : 
 Adone with such unthrifty gear ! 
 
 Like martyr'd men with hdless eyes, 
 
 Roofless, unglaz'd, the great shrines peer, 
 
 118
 
 THE DESPOTS 
 
 Asking vain questions of the skies — 265 
 
 Here is no room for such as ye; 
 
 He who spreads not the truth spreads hes. 
 Go your ways, Glaston, Shaftesbury, 
 
 Croyland and Jervaulx, Walsinghame ; 269 
 
 Let Christ Church help God's House to dree. 
 Shades of a shadow and a name ! 
 
 But watch you how the pointer swings 
 
 And turns upon the shamer shame, 
 Who from the welter of new things 
 
 Spewed out the pallium of the Pope, 275 
 
 And cut the buttresses of kings. 
 Lo, for a knock to those who grope 
 
 Unjustified by sacring oils ! 
 
 The climber strangled in his rope. 
 The robber snar'd in his own toils — 280 
 
 Lo, what Time's whirligig shall bring! 
 
 He sackt the Monks and sold their spoils 
 To who would dance as he should sing ; 
 
 And dance they did, to such a tone 
 
 That they anon could sack the king. 285 
 
 Mourn not the Monks. Their day was done. 
 
 Milestones upon a Roman road. 
 
 They mark how far the pilgrim's gone. 
 And more, how far he still must plod : 
 
 But here's a work at which Hodge winces, 290 
 
 A work that robs him of his God. 
 Reforma- When Cromwcll dipt in murder-rinses, 
 
 tion. 
 
 119
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Less happy than his Polar Star, 
 
 Lost his head and saved his Prince his, 
 And quit the land he helpt to mar, 295 
 
 He reiv'd the Church's body, and left 
 
 Her soul alive for Henry's v^^ar. 
 Thus came the despot's crowning theft 
 
 (Despot or Fly upon a Wheel) ; 
 
 Penn'd like an adder in a cleft, 300 
 
 He flasht his fork, who felt the steel ; 
 
 And turning all ways in his pother. 
 
 Girding, his torment to anneal. 
 Struck sideways at the Virgin Mother 
 
 And the mild burden of her breast ; 305 
 
 And stole one God, and made no other. 
 Gone now the mercies of that nest 
 
 Of purity without a smirch. 
 
 All that men know of holiest 
 Aflower within a woman's curch : 310 
 
 Now Doom fall heavy on the wretch 
 
 Who turn'd Madonna out of church ! 
 And it did fall. His evil letch 
 
 Found nothing good to serve it long. 
 
 One woman stay'd him out to fetch 315 
 
 A son, and he died rotten and young ; 
 
 And of his girls, the one was gaunt 
 
 With woman-sickness and wrought wrong ; 
 The other, the great Termagant, 
 
 Ate up her days, to man forbid, 320 
 
 120
 
 THE DESPOTS 
 
 And left dry sticks, for fools to plant. 
 
 To sum the tale of all he did, 
 This bloat destroyer of his own 
 And other men's, ere we were rid 
 
 Of him, and like a bladder blown 325 
 
 By poisonous vapours seething in't 
 He broke and dropt, to stifle or drown — 
 
 Let these things be set fast in print : 
 First, having had our money's worth, 
 He laid hands on the coin in mint, 330 
 
 And thinn'd it ere he sent it forth 
 To tell the merchants of the South 
 What faith he kept up in the North ; 
 
 Next, having serv'd one God in youth. 
 
 He kept the badge too cheaply bought, 335 
 And prov'd himself from his own mouth 
 
 Defender of a thing of nought — 
 Nay, if like man the Master is, 
 His sacre is not worth a thought ! 
 
 And last of his self-robberies 340 
 
 Ere to his unwept grave he gat : 
 He made the Estate which saddled his ; 
 
 Then died, clogg'd up with boils and fat. 
 Eater of women, thankless thief. 
 We never serv'd a worse than that. 345 
 
 Eliza- Leave we the boy whose hour was brief : 
 ^'^^' Geneva only craved his breath ; 
 
 121
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Leave blackbrow'd Mary to her grief, 
 Who serv'd the Lord of Life with death ; 
 
 And hail the Queen of dauntless pluck 350 
 
 The termagant Elizabeth ! 
 Berufft, bering'd, befrizz'd, bestuck, 
 
 You think, A doll ! unless you watch 
 
 The wary eye coursing for luck, 
 If by good hap she make a catch 355 
 
 And have you by the heartstring fast, 
 
 Her prey, to stroke, and then to scratch. 
 O whim incarnate, iron cast 
 
 In minion-texture filmy-frail ! 
 
 O falsely true. Queen first and last, 360 
 
 You tyrant fiery-soul'd, all hail ! 
 
 You stood for England, lookt no higher 
 
 Than your own proven triple mail. 
 Mistress of wile and flaming ire. 
 
 Wielding your passions for your turn ; 365 
 
 Cozener and gamester, hardy liar. 
 Even now we come to you to learn 
 
 What it needs face the world in arms 
 
 If England's honour we would earn. 
 Hodge knew you not, nor guess'd the alarms 370 
 
 That flew about your island hold ; 
 
 He had his griefs for his own harms. 
 Left to the penury and cold 
 
 Of lessening wages, stinted room, 
 
 Strange gods — a sheep in alien fold 375 
 
 122
 
 THE DESPOTS 
 
 Watcht by strange sheepdogs in the gloom. 
 
 Sheepdogs or wolves ? By what ambages 
 
 They baffled you, you spoke the doom 
 Of Hodge, poor hireling of the ages, 
 
 When Justices o' the Peace were set 380 
 
 To rule the rate of his day's wages. 
 You say, He was free his work to let : 
 
 Nay, he is free who rules the roost. 
 
 My lord had Hodge within his net. 
 Since wages rule as victuals cost : 385 
 
 All Hodge's freedom is to end 
 
 His days, by giving up the ghost. 
 Nor could he hope his case to mend 
 
 By asking comfort from the sky ; 
 
 For you denied his constant friend, 390 
 
 The Mother with her Babe held high : 
 
 He dared not hear his priest at Mass 
 
 Teach him. Thy God is standing nigh. 
 He saw his friends and neighbours pass 
 
 Broken and weeping by the way ; 395 
 
 He said. These men were as I was. 
 And I must soon be even as they. 
 
 Where are my saints who had my love ? 
 
 And who will teach me how to pray ? 
 His betters might do well enough : 400 
 
 They had the seas, they held the day — 
 
 To trade with Boris Godounov 
 And come back to an EngHsh May, 
 
 123
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 And have the scent o' the hawthorn bush 
 Borne by the West wind o'er the spray ; 405 
 
 And hear again an EngHsh thrush 
 Flute the quiet hopefulness of life, 
 Steadfast and high as a girl's blush 
 
 When she's a newly promist wife ! 
 
 Not this for him ; nor yet to find 410 
 
 In tavern'd ease his bourn of strife. 
 
 Telling of Muscovy or Ind, 
 
 Or of Benin the dangerous shore, 
 Or of the blessed Trading wind. 
 
 Those men of yours were England's core, 415 
 Your Drake and Martin Frobisher, 
 Your Grenvilles, Davises and more. 
 
 Your Raleigh, pirate, courtier, 
 
 Who brought Hodge home his weed and root, 
 And lives while English blood's astir. 420 
 
 Hodge had no more of the golden loot ; 
 And all he knew of your affrights 
 Was when at work with heavy foot 
 
 He saw the beacons blaze the heights. 
 
 To warn you Philip had set out 425 
 
 For roaring days and stormy nights. 
 
 Hodge Let Spenser sing of Colin Clout, 
 and the j>^^^ £ll ^ih book half full of hopes 
 And half of grave Platonic doubt 
 To o'er-sophisticate his tropes 430 
 
 124
 
 THE DESPOTS 
 
 Which make you Queen of Faerie, 
 
 While beerful Ben at Mermaid gropes 
 To write his way through pedantry — 
 
 Hodge knew them not, nor was beknown 
 
 Of them ; but here's a certainty : 435 
 
 There mused a man in Stratford town 
 
 To whom the wide world was an inn ; 
 
 And there he sat, too wise to frown, 
 And watcht the folk go out and in ; 
 
 And he knew Hodge, and how much ruth 440 
 
 There lay behind Feste's flickering grin. 
 It raineth every day, in truth, 
 
 Yet heart to meet it never fails ; 
 
 And Hodge had still his merry tooth 
 For Mayings, high days and Wassails, 445 
 
 For Christmas logs, Midsummer fires. 
 
 For mummings. Waits and Winters' Tales. 
 Not his the sad heart that soon tires ; 
 
 Saint Use hath still an antidote 
 
 Against the hour, and still requires 450 
 
 Attendance at Court Halimote, 
 
 View of Frankpledge, Assise of Ale ; 
 
 And still he follows as by rote 
 His husbandry, and pays his gale 
 
 For commonage. Not yet is looming 455 
 
 The hateful badge of those who fail, 
 The dreaded end — but that is coming. 
 
 The black fog is not on his soul, 
 
 125
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 But as at sea you hear the booming 
 Foretell its gathering masses roll, 460 
 
 So there are signs, if he were read, 
 That the Poor House must be his goal. 
 
 1603. No more. The goodly years are sped, 
 
 The gallant heart is snapt in twain ; 
 
 Flaming Elizabeth is dead, 465 
 
 Who reared a race to outrace Spain. 
 
 They say she had no God, and truly — 
 
 Only herself herself spoke plain ; 
 They say she had no heart, unduly — 
 
 England had that and knew it bleed. 470 
 
 Ruler of men, herself unruly. 
 She school'd herself to meet her need. 
 
 Denied her sex, she play'd her part 
 
 And held all England for her seed. 
 Queen after Curtmantle's own heart, 475 
 
 Sleep well ! We scan our kings in vain 
 
 For such another on the chart. 
 
 126
 
 BOOK VIII 
 
 THE FALL OF THE KINGS
 
 BOOK VIII : THE FALL OF THE KINGS 
 
 War and ^L T O W for a hundred years I tread 
 fTrangle X^ The embattled ways of strife and 
 -i. ^ blame, 
 
 While you, Hodge, are as good as dead 
 For all you enter in the game : 
 
 A hundred years' arbitrament 5 
 
 By sword and clamour add their shame 
 ' To them who having you in pent 
 
 Leave you acast like a kickt stone, 
 
 While doited kings 'gainst Parliament 
 Shatter themselves and are undone. lo 
 
 Whichever way the victory tends 
 
 It matters not ; you profit none. 
 Your Gods are gone, your ghostly friends, 
 
 Your saints flung out, your altars broke, 
 
 Your housel scouted ; no amends 15 
 
 For you within the Holy Book, 
 
 Nor is to be this many a year. 
 
 Your old Church homely comfort spoke. 
 But where's your comfort in this gear 
 
 Of Presbyters and Preaching Days ? 20 
 
 129 K
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 What get you from the pulpiteer, 
 Gaping to gather what he says ? 
 
 The battle raves ; and as of yore 
 
 You swinkt while knights rode their forays, 
 So now you bend your back to store 25 
 
 The grain, or sow anew, or beat 
 
 It out upon the threshing floor. 
 Not of the measure that you mete 
 
 Shall it be meted you again : 
 
 You work that gentlemen may eat, 30 
 
 They'll make your labouring in vain ; 
 
 You go to plow that men may live. 
 
 They go to battle who's to reign. 
 And whose the high prerogative. 
 
 To you, good friend, it matters not 35 
 
 Which gate it goes. None has to give 
 A thought your way. In the upshot 
 
 You will be slave again, you'll find. 
 
 When stale with strife the victors rot, 
 And get a blind king for the blind, 40 
 
 To run corruption's dearest rigg 
 
 And make corrupt all humankind. 
 Your county member, that staunch Whig, 
 
 Will cry his sufferings for his views ; 
 
 Some portly burgess from his gig 45 
 
 Vow you the King's downfall good news : 
 
 The King was less your foe, God bless you. 
 
 Than any tyrant you could choose ! 
 
 130
 
 THE FALL OF THE KINGS 
 
 He was least likely to oppress you 
 
 By his remoteness of degree ; 50 
 
 The men whose need is to possess you 
 Will make you fast once they are free 
 
 To run without their leading strings. 
 
 When the King's tied, so you will be. 
 
 The Foiir If kings must be, I'd have bad kings, 55 
 
 Stuarts. YoY finally men turn and rend them ; 
 
 Yet four ropeworthies clapt their wings 
 Before we had the grace to send them 
 
 To join their kinsmen in the grave, 59 
 
 With what support romance could lend them. 
 Four Stuarts : the one more fool than knave ; 
 One drawn to knavery by his folly ; 
 And one who bound himself a slave 
 To beastliness, lest melancholy 
 
 Drave him to madness and despair ; 65 
 
 And one given up to madness wholly, 
 Who sought to quicken the dead with air. 
 And rather earn'd our scorn than hate. 
 'James I. You, who brought on us all this care, 
 
 Son of that pale mischance of Fate 70 
 
 i Of scarlet mouth and sidelong eyes, 
 
 I The lovelorn Daughter of Debate — 
 
 How were you furnisht for the Assize 
 Whereto you needs must go to clean 
 Your foolish head aburst with lies ? ^j
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Perverse adventure ! Had you been 
 Dominie in some village school, 
 To fondle boys, or help them glean 
 
 The C7/-with-the-subjunctive rule ; 
 
 And after such complacent labours so 
 
 To spend your evenings getting full 
 
 Of usquebaugh and shrilling havers 
 Anent mankind's predestination. 
 Election and such godly favours — 
 
 Had Fate so ruled, your generation 85 
 
 Had not seen blood upon the Crown, 
 Nor your son's son humiliation ! 
 
 But you must needs hale kingship down 
 With you the slippery ruinous steep ; 
 It was for you, half wit, half clown, 90 
 
 Bemus'd by half-got scholarship. 
 To lure your Order on to edge 
 The sheer cliff hanging o'er the deep. 
 
 You craved the Tudor privilege ; 
 
 But one, it seems, may steal a horse, 95 
 
 T'other not look across the hedge. 
 
 The Houses now were learn'd in force, 
 And knew to meet it with their own ; 
 You drifted on from ill to worse. 
 
 Learning the less as you were known 100 
 
 The better — Dotard, could I reach 
 With ash-plant in my hand well-grown 
 
 The round of your unholy breech, 
 
 132
 
 THE FALL OF THE KINGS 
 
 Unto your headpiece wryly jointed 
 
 There were a lesson good to teach 105 
 
 To him who boasts him Lord's Anointed ! 
 By falsehood's shelving whirlpool way 
 To learn this truth was Charles appointed, 
 
 That kings, like dogs, will have their day ; 
 And when the Commons lockt the door no 
 In spite of him, and said their say. 
 
 They wrote great names upon the score. 
 Their say was said, and more by token, 
 They wrote it plain for him to pore ; 
 
 They made that true, not truly spoken : 115 
 
 Henceforth no king should go to break 
 Their House, and not himself be broken. 
 
 Seven years it was ere they could make 
 That writing true ; but each red word 
 Was written deep, each word a wake 120 
 
 That followed on the furrowing sword : 
 Seven years of riot and ill heat. 
 Until the rout on Naseby sward 
 
 Brought Charles's head to Cromwell's feet. 
 He had been happier to foresee 125 
 
 Ere he began that he was beat. 
 
 Hodge in And what of Hodge, and where stood he 
 the Strife. Between Prince Rupert and Prince Pym .? 
 A Tweedledum and Tweedledee 
 
 133
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Such transient monarchs were to him. 130 
 
 Indifferently their armies ranged, 
 
 Indifferent claim'd his Hfe and Hmb 
 For their affair : he was estranged 
 
 From both of them and their disasters, 
 
 And in the event he stood exchanged 135 
 
 From one to some five hundred masters. 
 
 Betwixt King Cromwell and King Charles, 
 
 Betwixt old priests and new-fledg'd pastors 
 There's little difference to poor carles, 
 
 Plying the harrow and the hoe i^o 
 
 On fields as guiltless of their snarls. 
 What of Election can he know 
 
 Or should he know, who has no choice ; 
 
 Or Grand Remonstrance, whether or no — 
 The patient plodder without voice ? 145 
 
 Silent, he judges this at least, 
 
 Having no share in such annoys. 
 Presbyter's but longwritten Priest, 
 
 And any shackle serves to lame 
 
 The soul of man or leg of beast. 150 
 
 As for the Lord, He stands the same 
 
 Tho' church become a steeple-house, 
 
 And he be given a Hebrew name 
 Which Praise-God Barebones thunderous 
 
 Hinges upon the Jews' dark story, 155 
 
 Beating the pulpit-ledge to rouse 
 His flock to dangers minatory — 
 
 134
 
 THE FALL OF THE KINGS 
 
 While at his feet in graven brass 
 Dom Galfrid smiles, expecting glory ! 
 
 Hodge, like a rock, sees all this pass i6o 
 
 As rain, wind-driven in a sheet, 
 Whereto he turns, as doth the ass. 
 
 His rounded back, and lets it beat 
 
 About his ears. The v^inds blow high. 
 
 The dense cloud-masses pack and meet, 165 
 
 Or ragged banners part and fly 
 
 Eager and low down — still the rents 
 Reveal the blue robe of the sky. 
 1469, Strange news shrills o'er the winter bents, 
 -January. Qver the waters of the Plain, 170 
 
 Over the downs to shepherds' tents : 
 
 " Have ye not heard ? The King is slain. 
 They do report him man of sin. 
 They say no king shall come again : 
 
 But what say you ? If they begin 175 
 
 With king, where shall they end ? For sure. 
 When a king goes, a king comes in." 
 
 Cromwell A king indeed was come, to cure 
 
 anihis gy purge the Commons, two much tied 
 
 To precedent. He took the pow'r 180 
 
 He had destroy'd as regicide ; 
 
 And found one thing to bit the horse, 
 But quite another thing to ride. 
 In England now surg'd up a force 
 
 135
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Slow-gather'd thro' the centuries, 185 
 
 Which Hke a headed watercourse 
 That burst the dam, swept tyrannies — 
 All tyrannies except its own — 
 Rolling and rocking to their knees. 
 
 The Within the dense and hiving town, 190 
 
 Middle Within the thronging street and mart 
 
 This power was gender'd, which had grown 
 Unwatcht and hid in England's heart. 
 
 Long-pondering, of heavy foot, 
 
 Not mov'd by words, not heeding art, 195 
 
 Taking its good and holding to't 
 
 Thro' times of heat and times of cold. 
 
 Like our great oaks it struck its root 
 Deep in the very fund of the mould, 
 
 So deep that no man should be got 200 
 
 Henceforth and not hold as it hold. 
 Plain men and just are these, not hot 
 
 Nor cold, but funded in the mean ; 
 
 Their gods are God, others are not ; 
 Only thro' their eyes is truth seen : 205 
 
 Strangers have dealing fair, withal 
 
 They doubt a foreigner can be clean. 
 Here was the people in whose thrall 
 
 Hodge and his kind must come to stand, 
 
 Hodge the poor aboriginal 210 
 
 Who serv'd, because he was, the land, 
 
 136
 
 THE FALL OF THE KINGS 
 
 Harbour'd as well as labourer. 
 Who in her bosom dar'd his hand. 
 
 But as the Norman conqueror 
 
 Engrafted on our English stem 215 
 
 His pride of place and his honour, 
 
 So showed these panoplies in them 
 Who left the ranks of their array 
 And claim'd the master's diadem. 
 
 More Norman than the Normans they, 220 
 
 With more of pride, and less of care 
 To flush with honour their cold clay, 
 
 They rode Hodge down and left him there, 
 Gaunt as the face of weather'd rock, 
 Enserf'd again, in the old despair. 225 
 
 There fell a hush upon the folk 
 Such as at folding down of night 
 Silences suddenly the flock ; 
 
 Or as when all the world is white 
 
 With new-fain snow, the wagon's creak 230 
 Sounds faint, as if the load was light 
 
 Upon the Earth, who car'd not speak — 
 So Englishmen their labours took, 
 And made a Sabbath all the week. 
 
 That was the Sabbath of the Book, 235 
 
 Connoted by the Pharisees. 
 If they teach truly we may look 
 
 For an eternity of these. 
 
 137
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Charles Now sooth it is, cach temporal mood 
 
 Is to itself its own disease, 240 
 
 And with what zeal we win our good 
 With just so much we next abhor it. 
 And turn to long-rejected food, 
 
 And vow ourselves the better for it — 
 
 So England, sicken'd of her new, 245 
 
 Cried up her old throne, to restore it. 
 
 The Wastrel comes, of sallow hue. 
 The Medicean effigy 
 Stampt on a heart as fond, untrue 
 
 And vile as even a Stuart's can be ; 250 
 
 The man who laughs, lest in some glass 
 His own despair he chance to see 
 
 And shriek his own disgustfulncss. 
 Now we are jigging in a dance 
 Which stays not while the death-carts pass ; 255 
 
 Now we get hire and whores from France 
 And bless the given to the giver ; 
 Now we find perils to enhance 
 
 Our feasts — the Dutchmen in the river ; 
 
 And Master Pepys, at grips with life, 260 
 
 Recording triumphs of the liver. 
 
 While Master Pepys with Bagwell's wife 
 Does Bagwell wrong on Deptford hard. 
 And whoredom and the Plague, both rife, 
 
 Promise corruption for reward, 265 
 
 Whom shall we teach, of all on hire, 
 
 138
 
 THE FALL OF THE KINGS 
 
 To break the box of spikenard 
 And find in honesty new desire ? 
 
 Signs of the times were writ in red, 
 
 The streaming pennons of the Fire ; 270 
 
 Yet to our buzzards overfed 
 
 Virtue was Pandarus to Vice ; 
 
 A maiden was a maidenhead, 
 A maidenhead a matter of price : 
 
 When everything was out for sale, 275 
 
 Small wonder Hodge was merchandise. 
 
 Hodge He was the first goods tied in bale, 
 
 bound -^Q sooner were the three Estates, 
 
 1662.' Kings, Lords, and Landlords, fresh and hale 
 
 Upon their thrones, behind their gates. 280 
 
 England, rejoice ! Your griefs are laid ; 
 Now feast, while they attend the Fates. 
 
 Your King is home, be not afraid : 
 
 Here are the Lords and faithful Commons 
 Fathers of many nations made^ 285 
 
 As saith the Epistle to the Romans, 
 Now all agog to justify 
 What they assume to be a summons. 
 
 They took first charge of husbandry, 
 
 And lest Hodge might get out of hand 290 
 Or, seeking work, stray large and by, 
 
 Tied him securely to the land : 
 
 No poor man now should leave his vill 
 
 139
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 But could be sent back on demand. 
 Would you know why ? The village till 295 
 
 Was answerable for its poor ; 
 
 But if those rascals roam'd at will, 
 Who was to know what Poorhousc door 
 
 They might not batter with their quest 
 
 For victual or night's furniture ? 300 
 
 A wandering peasantry's a pest ; 
 
 But we'll have no cast-iron hedges ; 
 
 Whither the scamp goes let him rest, 
 On giving " reasonable pledges." 
 
 Nay, even more, such our possession 305 
 
 Of care for all men's privileges, 
 Hodge shall have leave his suit to press on 
 
 From Court to Court, and take his plea 
 
 From Petty unto Quarter Session, 
 From two landlords to twenty-three. 3io 
 
 Distracted once, now happy Nation ! 
 
 All things are as they us'd to be. 
 All men in the old concatenation. 
 
 The King enthron'd and Hodge enthrall'd : 
 
 Here is indeed a Restoration, 31^ 
 
 The which, if peace it may be call'd, 
 
 Which is a silence like a tomb's. 
 
 Will keep the fortunate install'd 
 Within their handsome dining-rooms. 
 
 Keeping domestic festival, 320 
 
 Ruling the nation with their dooms, 
 
 140
 
 THE FALL OF THE KINGS 
 
 With kingship constitutional, 
 
 And Whigs to see that it stay so. 
 And Tories, seeking Whigs' downfall, 
 
 Seeing no less, though they cry No, 325 
 
 The saw, Quieta non movere. 
 Like money, makes the mare to go. 
 
 Whig Charles dead, a japer dried and dreary, 
 Constttu- James with his Houses measur'd swords ; 
 
 They drove him into exile weary 330 
 
 And with Dutch William made accords. 
 He had the wit to take his good 
 As it fell to him, with few words. 
 He serv'd his own land where he could ; 
 
 We found him provand for his wars : 335 
 
 He died, and left us where we stood 
 Rigid in constitutional bars. 
 
 There leave we Hodge upon the wold, 
 Searching in vain the bitter stars. 
 
 Weeping A dripping day is two hours old, 340 
 
 Dawn. Unseen save by the matin cock ; 
 
 The world is sodden, dark and cold ; 
 The fogger, fumbling with the lock. 
 Must hold his lanthorn to the bin 
 Ere he can ease the lowing stock. 345 
 
 Laggard the morn comes weeping in. 
 The drops fall heavy from the tree ; 
 
 141
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 A shrouded candle shows within 
 The house, where Cicely girds her knee, 
 
 And yawning gives her hair a twist, 350 
 
 Or pins her shift and lets it be. 
 Scant guardian of her tumbled breast ; 
 
 Then slippers down to blow the ash 
 
 And blaze the chilblain on her wrist. 
 She hears the great slow oxen plash 355 
 
 Their way thro' puddles in the lane ; 
 
 The wet wind whistles in the sash 
 Or spatters hasty on the pane — 
 
 A hopeless dawn ! Nay, in the West, 
 
 Beyond the fringes of the rain, 360 
 
 See like an opening palimpsest, 
 
 Watchful and steadfast. Heaven's blue eye ! 
 
 Read there, O man, your gospell'd rest. 
 
 142
 
 BOOK IX 
 
 STRONG DELIVERER
 
 BOOK IX : STRONG DELIVERER 
 
 WHEN winds are high and lands adust, 
 And day no longer than the night, 
 When grass-spears dimple the earth's 
 crust, 
 Pricking the glebe with points of light — 
 
 High in new Heaven shrills the lark, 5 
 
 Scattering his fount of song in flight ; 
 There is a burnish on bole and bark, 
 A bloom upon the woodland sere ; 
 The dark yews wear a glossier dark, 
 Blue fire illumes the juniper : lo 
 
 Earth robes herself in golden moss, 
 The birthday mantle of the year ! 
 rears The ycars pursue, gain after loss. 
 
 And fleeting after them this Rime, 
 Like the great river Okeanos, 15 
 
 Must gird the globe in space and time. 
 Faster or slower, clear or dense 
 As vision grants, gross or sublime, 
 The running verse engulfs the sense 
 
 And laps it onward, free and brave 20 
 
 As following years. Quick and intense 
 
 145 L 
 
 ind this 
 '^ime.
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 One line swims from another's grave, 
 Surging, until the backwash holds it. 
 And the last rime comes like a wave. 
 
 Spent in the new thought that enfolds it. 25 
 
 So is it with our round of days : 
 The womb, conceiving new life, moulds it 
 
 Deeply with runes of the ancient ways 
 Wherein itself was deeply prest. 
 Forth to strange airs and new forays 30 
 
 Come we, with memories of the nest ; 
 And so the Life-Sap surges on 
 Perennial through woman's breast. 
 
 The new, afore the old is gone. 
 
 Is reinforced by backward ebb, 35 
 
 And towering, crashes on the stone 
 
 And is flung back, a criss-cross web 
 Of broken waves, to find a home 
 In the new-gathering, curving neb 
 
 Of sliding water cream'd with foam. 40 
 
 The New Read there a figure of the truth 
 in the The insurgents learn'd who broke with Rome, 
 
 Old. When despot Henry slak'd his tooth 
 In robbery, and the deed was done 
 Which reft our English of the sooth 45 
 
 Lore of the Virgin and her Son. 
 
 Thev broke the Church, but of the old 
 Splinters and sherds another one 
 
 146
 
 STRONG DELIVERER 
 
 The breakers built, a shapelier fold. 
 
 A brick from here, a tile from there, 50 
 
 Foundations of the antick mould ; 
 Snugly within, the Bishop's chair, 
 
 And that blest thing, a liturgy 
 
 Marking the limits to a hair 
 Of what your trade with God should be, 55 
 
 Of when you stood and when you sat. 
 
 Of apathy and ecstasy. 
 Mydev dyau, the saw comes pat ; 
 
 They rear'd a fabric all to please. 
 
 Secure from heat — and rather flat. 60 
 
 O finely temper'd balances 
 
 Between the old priests and the newer. 
 
 What shall the simple do with these. 
 Your plowman, hodman, drawer, hewer .? 
 
 He seeks assurance that his call 65 
 
 Out of the deep His aid procure 
 Who made and watcht and bled for all. 
 
 Who was a well-spring in the heat. 
 
 Who heedeth how the sparrows fall — 
 You give him Articles for his meat, 70 
 
 A gruel of logic for his fountain 
 
 Of grace, and bid him drink of it ! 
 
 The Old When George Fox, musing on his mountain, 
 in the Turn'd his rapt eyes adown the steep. 
 
 He saw the peoples packt past counting, 75 
 
 H7
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Straying in herds like driven sheep, 
 
 With open mouths and blacken'd tongues, 
 Too dust-begone and dry to weep ; 
 
 So vow'd himself to right their wrongs 
 
 And labour'd all his nights and days, go 
 
 Pointing his periods with rude songs 
 
 All of his secret inner rays 
 
 Of light divine ; and whom he brought 
 Into his quiet reflective ways 
 
 Of soberness, put sober thought 85 
 
 In their sons' sons, though few they be. 
 In a white light was Bunyan caught, 
 
 Which curb'd him sharply in his glee. 
 Blazing before his alter'd face 
 Blank horror of eternity. 90 
 
 Less dar'd he think of God's free grace 
 Than of the dreadful wrath to come ; 
 Less could he heed the sick man's case 
 
 For thinking of his endless doom. 
 
 He cried the worm, the burning coals, 95 
 
 The fog, the groaning and the gloom ; 
 
 And vain his thunderous warning rolls 
 Over men bound in hunger-stress. 
 Who never knew that they had souls. 
 
 So keen their bodies' wretchedness. 
 But now, — as when old misery 
 Held Hodge in bondage remediless, 
 
 And the Gray Men from oversea 
 
 148 
 
 100
 
 STRONG DELIVERER 
 
 Brought gentle deed and honest word 
 
 To teach him what his hope might be 105 
 
 If a poor Maid could bear our Lord, 
 And a poor Child be God indeed 
 (Which was the work of Bonaccord, 
 
 Sowing in England Francis' seed, 
 
 Whereof the comfort has been ours no 
 
 Thro' many a year of dearth and need) — 
 
 Now, when that failed us, and dark hours 
 Came back, with none to lead us higher. 
 For Francis' faith that broke in flowers 
 Wesley. Came Wesley's, ministering with fire. 115 
 
 O Strong DeHverer, with reprieve 
 For all who heard your heart suspire ! 
 
 When on that Pentecostal Eve 
 1738. You stood beside your brother's bed 
 
 And testified, saying, I believe, 120 
 
 Were not the Tongues about your head ? 
 When your apostolate began 
 Was there no rising from the dead ? 
 
 '^he Francis proclaim'd a Child that ran 
 Child a j^^^ shelter'd in His Mother's lap ;— 125 
 
 But now the Child was full-grown Man 
 With no more need to seek the pap, 
 Ready His Father's business 
 To be about, with sight mayhap 
 Of that last Cup of bitterness 130 
 
 149
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Which He must drink, and of another 
 Hereafter to be pour'd. No less 
 
 Did Wesley, when Christ and His Mother 
 Were turn'd away, and He unknown, 
 Than bring Him back to be our Brother, 135 
 
 Than bring Him back a Man full-grown. 
 To take our burden up and bear it 
 Until each man could lift his own. 
 
 Says he, All need grace, all can share it. 
 
 All men may know its birth assured ; 140 
 
 Having it, each man shall declare it, 
 
 That all be holiness in the Lord. 
 
 By these five signs the saint's betray'd. 
 As there are five needs to a sword — 
 
 Hilt, guard and point and two-edg'd blade. 145 
 These doctrines Wesley liv'd to prove, 
 And died, and knew himself apaid. 
 
 For as one new caught-up in love 
 
 Feels a great peace with all the world, 
 
 And thinks himself the root thereof, 150 
 
 Whereas the truth is, he is cngirl'd ; 
 And steept in tender thought of her. 
 Sees gentleness like dew empearl'd 
 
 On all gross nature, reading there 
 
 The quiet secrets of her heart — 155 
 
 So Hodge, with Christ-love all astir, 
 Hodge Trudg'd housell'd by his horse and cart, 
 and the Ip;norant sacramentalist. 
 
 Doctrine. ° 
 
 150
 
 STRONG DELIVERER 
 
 Inspir'd to do his daily part 
 
 With Christ in him and him in Christ. i6o 
 
 Afield, at home, a new-heard voice 
 Bids him be sure. As if new-kiss'd 
 
 He sees his faded wife ; his boys 
 And girls shine with reflected grace 
 Of his new holiness ; new joys 165 
 
 Redeem his fetid dwelling-place — 
 The beaten floor, the bed of leaves 
 Where they must huddle and make no case 
 
 Of the rat busy in the eaves. 
 
 Let all these be what bait they can 170 
 
 For Parliament, that den of thieves, 
 
 To fasten on ; in his new plan 
 
 He holds by Christ the Crucified, 
 Who found him serf and left him man. 
 
 The High What matter though Sir Robert ride 175 
 
 World. Tht sot in ermine, and rule out 
 
 All factions but his own ? His pride 
 Is of earth earthy ; let him grout 
 With heavy wantons in a stye, 
 And politicians ring his snout ! 180 
 
 Our commerce now is with the sky ; 
 The news is that Christ died for men. 
 And is here yet, and now is nigh. 
 So Hodge transcended his poor den 184 
 
 Whilst the first German kings learnt manners, 
 
 151
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 While his own sons were crimpt and then 
 Sent out to vex the Frenchmen's banners. 
 
 Afoot, afloat, by sea and plain. 
 
 From Finisterre to the Savannahs ; 
 At Fontenoy and Minden slain 190 
 
 Or batter'd out of recollection, 
 
 The press'd men serv'd their term of pain, 
 Unto the Devil choice refection ; 
 
 And oversea left bleaching bones 
 
 Expecting joyful resurrection. 195 
 
 So be't ! But Wesley's trumpet tones 
 
 Made men, where had been herded cattle, 
 
 Heedless as well of ribald stones 
 As of the shock of Rodney's battle. 
 
 The world, the flesh, the devil beat 200 
 
 Against them and approv'd their mettle ; 
 For they had been given a ghostly meat 
 
 Wherewith to face what ills betided. 
 
 Though they had little else to eat. 
 And the high world (while Hodge abided) 205 
 
 Hunted its pleasures, diced and play'd ; 
 
 The Gunnings took the air, provided 
 With footguards for their Park parade ; 
 
 Chesterfield sneers, the Doctor winces, 
 
 Horace affects the masquerade: 210 
 
 Which Opera serve you. King's or Prince's ? 
 
 Are you for pistols or for swords ? 
 
 Has Q. his mistress ? Who Selwyn's is ? 
 
 152
 
 STRONG DELIVERER 
 
 Goes Pulteney to the House of Lords ? 
 
 And in the fields whence these high noddies 215 
 Drain nutriment, women in hordes, 
 
 Stone-picking, tossing dung, their bodies 
 Marr'd by the weather, with the stains 
 Of loam and sweat on smock or bodice. 
 
 Work thro' the sunshine and the rains ; 220 
 
 And men are there with fierce bright eyes. 
 And children, scar'd by hunger-pains 
 
 To snatch like young wolves, make a prize 
 Of a bird-bitten turnip cast 
 Beside a furrow, thick with flies. 225 
 
 No tramp of men : silence is vast 
 Upon the country ; but in town 
 The weavers fight to break their fast, 
 
 And the dragoons must ride them down. 
 
 Horace from cloistral Berkeley Square, 230 
 
 His shapely brow pucker'd to frown, 
 
 Walks out to see the houses flare. 
 And shrewdly reads within the fog 
 More than a Riot Act affair. 
 
 King Stork is minister to King Log, 235 
 
 Says he, and ponders much the end. 
 Tying a ribbon for his dog, 
 
 Or couplet for his lady friend. 
 
 The case was worse than he conceiv'd — 
 
 He saw, but had no care to mend — 240 
 
 But better in that one man liv'd 
 
 153
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 To give them of the best he had, 
 
 To know in Whom they had believ'd : 
 John Wesley on his ambling pad, 
 
 With comfort for them in his pocket, 245 
 
 Keeping the road, patient and glad 
 To serve their emptiness and stock it. 
 
 His work was done ere he was dead. 
 
 Like a spent candle in the socket. 
 Burning his life down to a shred, 250 
 
 And spearing up with his last breath 
 
 Into a flame unmeasured 
 But by the darkness after death. 
 
 154
 
 BOOK X 
 
 THE LAST THEFT
 
 BOOK X : THE LAST THEFT 
 
 ///. 
 
 Block- T TT" T HEN North was rooted for our woes, 
 ^kllf. \A/ ^"'^ Sackville taught the American 
 V V How EngUsh landlords would dispose 
 
 Of him, as neither God nor man 
 
 Nor devil might with Englishry 5 
 
 Once free, the last great theft began ; 
 
 For being shut of robbery 
 
 Abroad, they lookt at home, to pull 
 Breast-feathers from the smaller fry 
 
 To make their nests more comfortable. lo 
 
 George Apt leader you, O George the Third, 
 
 Pious and obstinate, proud and dull. 
 
 To cushion like a nesting bird 
 
 On your fleeced subjects, and to prate 
 
 With wagging head and stammer'd word 15 
 
 Of England happy, free and great. 
 With lords in parks beneficent, 
 And peasants beaming — on the estate. 
 
 All's well : the farmer pays the rent. 
 
 The labourer's worthy of his hire ; io 
 
 My lords are in the Parliament, 
 
 ^S7
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 And God, like a reposeful squire, 
 Hears Cherubim and Seraphim 
 Sing Order to the tuneful lyre ; 
 
 Wonderful order, made by Him 25 
 
 For angels and subservient nations, 
 Whereby alone His world goes trim 
 
 When all men keep their proper stations : 
 The highly placed, in their high places, 
 The lowly serving them — on rations. 30 
 
 Excellent world ! but for such races 
 As Boston breeds for Bunker Hill, 
 Or France, encumber'd with disgraces 
 
 Of the poor, who choose not to lie still. 
 
 But break the bonds which Fates decree 35 
 And grind their lords in their own mill. 
 
 From men's high courage to be free, 
 From Washington and Lafayette 
 You nothing learn'd. Hot butchery 
 
 Of men wrought frantic left you yet 40 
 
 Bemus'd with pride, the sort that clings 
 To dulness, lest hope or regret 
 
 Should move it. To your whip of stings 
 You added scorpions. White and blind, 
 You scor'd your reign with gibbet-swings. 45 
 
 You were well serv'd. After your kind, 
 Bute, Grafton, North, high-sniffing sires. 
 Like towering falcons take the wind 
 
 In pride of place. The mob admires, 
 
 158
 
 THE LAST THEFT 
 
 Till Johnny Wilkes or Gordon kindles 50 
 
 Them liberal or protestant fires ; 
 
 And then their admiration dwindles. 
 But there's to deal with sterner stuff 
 Which the Blind Women at their spindles 
 
 Are twisting for you. Soon enough 55 
 
 You'll find your destinies on earth, 
 With Europe handled by the scruff. 
 
 Progress All's Well, Say you ? But there's this dearth, 
 andt e p^ double dearth which needs contriving: ; 
 
 Country- c ^ • • i 
 
 man. The great need money for their mirth, 60 
 
 The towns need bread where swarms are hiving. 
 
 And beer — O find us malt for brewing ! 
 
 Sad that the measure of their thriving 
 Should be the countryman's undoing, 
 
 But so it was. When Arthur Young, 65 
 
 Concern'd with economic ruin, 
 Cried up the properties of dung 
 
 Which in hedg'd land your yield quadruples, 
 
 He serv'd the gamester and the bung, 
 And had no lack of ardent pupils. 70 
 
 The Open Lands must go, all said ; 
 
 This was no age for reverent scruples ; 
 Saint Use-and-Wont was dying or dead — 
 
 Bury him deep, and let us have 
 
 Utility for saint instead. 75 
 
 The lawyers dig his handsome grave ; 
 
 159
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 His epitaph in Private Bills 
 
 Is courtly writ. Indifferent brave 
 
 It sounds : Whereas, for all our ills 
 
 A remedy lies close to hand, 80 
 
 Now therefore we redeem the hills 
 
 And valleys of all champion land. 
 To that effect ! The Muse abridges 
 All that you need not understand. 
 
 Keep watchful eye for grassy ridges 85 
 
 When next upon your country walk. 
 Which run their course thro' dykes and hedges: 
 
 Dead husbandry of furrow and balk, 
 Telling of Hodge's life bypast 
 When his own ox-plow turn'd the chalk, 90 
 
 And from his own land he broke fast. 
 
 The Old Before the days of sword and helm, 
 Village. Before the Norman bolt was cast. 
 The village lay, a little realm, 
 
 The Manor with its three estates ; 95 
 
 About it, robed in oak and elm, 
 The lord's demesne, with pale and gates. 
 Within was justice done for all, 
 The courts were held, the runagates 
 Corrected ; but beyond the hall 100 
 
 And its demesne lay the lord's wood. 
 Wherein the tenants at the fall 
 Might turn their pigs to rout for food — 
 
 160
 
 THE LAST THEFT 
 
 There they might gather up the drift, 
 
 Or cut of bracken what they would. 105 
 
 At the wood's edge the commons Hft 
 
 Towards the sky their flame of gorse ; 
 
 There without charter or lord's gift 
 Each cottager might feed his horse, 
 
 His cow and calf, his sheep and pig, no 
 
 By ancient custom which had force 
 Of law behind it. Some might dig 
 
 For marl or gravel, or some cut 
 
 Peat for their firing. Little and big. 
 All fared alike ; and one was put u? 
 
 For overseer of waste and copse. 
 
 That no man's right another's shut. 
 The roundsman guarded growing crops. 
 
 The herd kept watch upon the hurst ; 
 
 Sharp over all the Reeve's eye drops. 120 
 
 The tilth lay open, strips disperst, 
 
 Sever'd by balks, roodland from roodland ; 
 
 All turn'd by lot, best with the worst ; 
 You might have all your shots of good land, 
 
 Or might have none — but all the land 125 
 
 Was open fallow, like the woodland. 
 Like common pastures, no beast bann'd. 
 
 Save geese, whose droppings are a poison. 
 
 When once the fields were glean'd by hand. 
 So, after men, the beasts had foison ; 130 
 
 And it stayed fallow for a mowing, 
 
 161 M
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 While the next field had men and boys on 
 To plow against the winter's sowing. 
 
 Two course or three, so custom fared, 
 
 With grass and corn alternate growing. 135 
 Here, strip and strip, all manner shared. 
 
 The lord, the parson, yeoman bold. 
 
 The cottager, and he who had dared 
 Hoodwink the law of copyhold ; 
 
 For even him the use took in 140 
 
 If he had shelter from the cold. 
 There was no man too poor to win 
 
 His own subsistence, or too haut 
 
 To harvest with his lowlier kin : 
 All had their dues of boone and bote, 145 
 
 Each had the judgment of his peers ; 
 
 For in their Court of Halimote 
 The tenants were the justiciers ; 
 
 The Frankpledge found the fault, and then 
 
 The fine was laid about his ears 150 
 
 Who faulted, or a ruder pain. 
 
 The New So once all England stood, so yet 
 Farming. Hodge had his status. With free men 
 He walkt free man, his only fret 
 
 His own mishandling. Now all goes, 155 
 
 And he must join the rueful set 
 Of them who fell as others rose ; 
 
 For now, with need and common sense, 
 
 162
 
 THE LAST THEFT 
 
 Covctousness cries out, Enclose ! 
 The time was come for hedge and fence, i6o 
 
 That is most true. But so is this, 
 
 That you'll not profit of your pence 
 If they are got by gormandise. 
 
 Hodge lays a robbery at your door 
 
 When with your own land you took his. 165 
 Two ways of ravishing the poor : 
 
 The one to squeeze him in your fist ; 
 
 T'other to tax his portion more 
 Than he can pay and still subsist. 
 
 The second was the plan found good 170 
 
 By your rural economist. 
 He dealt the lands out, tilth and wood, 
 
 Pasture and common, right of soil : 
 
 So much to the lord, to Hodge his rood 
 Or half-rood — God reward his toil ! 175 
 
 But stay : " Good man, 'tis yours, we pledge it 
 
 A pightle fair to mend or spoil ; 
 Parva sed apta we allege it, 
 
 And it is yours by stroke of pen — 
 
 With this provision, that you hedge it." 180 
 " Hedge it ! But 'twill not feed my hen ! 
 
 'Tis not enough to turn a pig in. 
 
 And where shall I find money then 
 To buy me pales, or dung to dig in ? 
 
 What shall I do, enclos'd, encas'd,' 185 
 
 One rood for beasts and us to lig in t 
 
 163
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 I had my freedom of the waste, 
 
 I took my share with my good neighbours ; 
 
 There was enough for all to taste — 
 And I'm to sing on pipes and tabors 190 
 
 The blessings of this new cockloft, 
 
 And look to prosper by my labours ? 
 You tell me Parliament is soft 
 
 To property ; but all I know 
 
 Is this, I had land with my croft, 195 
 
 And now have none. I had a cow. 
 
 And she's been sold for want of keep — 
 
 Your Parliament got her I allow. 
 These thirty year I've kept your sheep ; 
 
 IVe serv'd you well for little gain ; 200 
 
 I had my bit of land to reap, 
 I had my beast, or maybe twain. 
 
 They kept me in milk or gave me meat ; 
 
 I stood foursquare to wind and rain. 
 Free of my land, on my two feet — ^ 205 
 
 And who should know as well as you 
 
 That a man's own bread is most sweet ? " 
 
 The End But no ! The Houses played the Jew — 
 of Colin Beggar-my-neighbour or Odd-man-out — 
 
 The land of many went to few, 210 
 
 And there was an end of Colin Clout. 
 They held our English earth so dear 
 That Englishmen must go without. 
 
 164 
 
 Clout.
 
 THE LAST THEFT 
 
 His Grace the Duke, that staunch Whig peer, 
 
 Who held within his gates and lodge 215 
 
 Three thousand acres for his deer, 
 Cast eyes upon the rood of Hodge. 
 
 " What means this waste ? Enclose the moor! " 
 
 And it was done, by lawyers' dodge. 
 The poor had less, the rich had more ; 220 
 
 For a hundred years the game was play'd 
 
 Out and about ; and when 'twas o'er 
 Scarce was a peasant had a spade 
 
 With a lugg of land to use it on 
 
 And earn his provand with the blade. 225 
 
 O earth made kindly by the sun, 
 
 O land of tilth and pasture field. 
 
 Where men have raised up men and won 
 By labour of your bountiful yield, 
 
 What ghosts of wrong'd dead men oppress 230 
 
 The sweet air blowing o'er the weald ! 
 What hearts wrung dry in bitterness. 
 
 What thews have husbanded in vain 
 
 The mercy of your fruitfulness, 
 What tears have water'd in your grain ! 235 
 
 How shall a man have heart to rest 
 
 On buried centuries of pain ? 
 Whither went they, the dispossest ? 
 
 Some dar'd new life across the seas ; 
 
 A many sank ; the swarming nest 240 
 
 Of town drew some to drug their knees 
 
 .65
 
 1793- 
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 And dim their eyes in air that's not 
 
 Air, but the reek of lung-disease. 
 The crimps had some, the press-gang got 
 
 Some, and the jail some ; some were flung 245 
 
 Into the galley-ship to rot 
 Or reach the land whence no man's tongue 
 
 Could sound his misery worse than death 
 
 (Death was their gain) ; and some were hung. 
 The rest adrift, like winter breath, 250 
 
 Film'd the vision, and faded then, 
 
 Serving Malthus his shibboleth. 
 That vice is good for mortal men — 
 
 The smug philosopher theorizing 
 
 The paupers hiving in their den. 255 
 
 There's this to approve his moralizing — 
 
 When Hodge was elbow'd from the soil 
 
 Five millions of him was the sizing : 
 Now some poor half a million toil. 
 
 The spendthrift century has run 260 
 
 Its round of cozenage and spoil ; 
 And now, my lords, a game's begun 
 
 Which ought your credit to enhance, 
 
 The year that sees Napoleon 
 On ragged wings stoop over France. 265 
 
 Quick, turn your back on Speenhamlond, 
 
 And find a use for Hodge perchance ! 
 You fought your own, to make them bond, 
 
 166
 
 THE LAST THEFT 
 
 Now here's a peril lest you fall 
 
 Yourselves to servitude beyond 270 
 
 Any your mastership has at call. 
 
 Rob Hodge no more, for here is risen 
 
 A greater robber than you all. 
 Yet again, no ! The whip, the prison. 
 
 The gibbet fatten. New offences 275 
 
 Are made each day ; and each new treason 
 Leaves fewer men for your defences. 
 
 You cannot learn that to be brute 
 
 Makes him a brute, whose goaded senses 
 Drive him to put beyond dispute 280 
 
 The wrong for which he jeopardizes. 
 
 Whether or not he's driven to't. 
 And all the rest whom your Assizes 
 
 Cannot avail to coop or cow. 
 
 You drive to pauper's stock devices 285 
 
 Of cringing, whining, falling low 
 
 To take your flung alms as from God, 
 
 And curse you as they mop and mow. 
 Disastrous blockheads, with what rod 
 
 You ruled withal, to you some day 290 
 
 It shall be measur'd. With a nod 
 The great Assessor will look your way : 
 
 " These fools, self-chosen, led the blind. 
 
 And prov'd themselves blinder than they ; 
 For where else in the world d'you find 295 
 
 Tillers kept off their land of tillage, 
 
 167
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Save in this realm o' the South-West wind ? " 
 So I leave you, thieves of the village, 
 To bring the land you went to mar 
 Face to face with a greater pillage — 300 
 
 Two-and-twenty years of war. 
 
 Fz//^^^ Yet in the village you might muse 
 
 Under the silver evening star : 
 The men, the houses, shrouded yews. 
 
 The long church folding into the night 305 
 
 Still in the holding of Saint Use 
 As in days when his shrine was bright. 
 
 Still on his milestone, feeling the peace 
 
 Of the level evening light. 
 His stick between his gnarly knees, 310 
 
 Gaffer sits in hempen smock 
 
 With clear blue eyes for all he sees 
 'Neath craggy brows like weather'd rock: 
 
 Small white houses about a green, 
 
 Dust behind from a homing flock ; 315 
 
 Ducks on the pond's edge nibble and preen 
 
 Their necks ; in the great elm's heavy shade 
 
 A dim couple, the king and queen 
 Of life-to-c6me, young man, young maid. 
 
 Gaffer nods from the judgment-seat : 320 
 
 All these things have been sung or said 
 From the beginning ; first the sweet, 
 
 Then the bitter. We spend our days 
 
 168
 
 THE LAST THEFT 
 
 As a tale that is told or writ. 
 Youth is tall, with a foolish face 325 
 
 All hot flush and thoughts unskill'd, 
 
 Who wears his jacket with high grace 
 Like a hussar, the sleeve not fill'd. 
 
 His words are shy, his deeds are bolder ; 
 
 He leans and presses. She is thrill'd. 330 
 
 She should be younger or else colder. 
 
 That dreaming lass with neck of snow 
 
 And curl astray upon her shoulder. 
 Who feels the colour burn and glow 
 
 As answer to the question trips 335 
 
 Why the young man should want her so. 
 My dear, come home, the world has whips 
 
 For such as quit the apron-string ; 
 
 And after kissing of the lips 
 The biting comes, the rue and sting. 340 
 
 Come home : see what she thinks of you. 
 
 The moon, half hid in a golden ring. 
 
 169
 
 BOOK XI 
 
 WATERLOO AND PETERLOO
 
 BOOK XI: WATERLOO AND PETERLOO 
 
 The ^ T EX sing who will, on iron wires, 
 WaT^^ I '^^^ twenty-two years' war ; let cry 
 
 I J Who will the guerdon of our sires 
 
 Who on the shot-swept Victory 
 
 Saw Nelson fall, or on the plain 5 
 
 Where the Zadorra sluiced his dry 
 
 And gaping channel with red rain 
 
 Drave Marmont back the mountain road, 
 And left five thousand English slain ; 
 
 Or Waterloo, that field of blood, lo 
 
 Where the great Robber found his peer. 
 And he who had trod the world saw trod 
 
 The legions of his last career : 
 
 Sing brazen-throated he who will 
 
 These crowning mercies ! I must veer 15 
 
 To dip my rustic-pointed quill 
 
 In drabber ink. My ballad-scroll 
 Must voice the anguish deep and still 
 
 Of strife more bitter, where the toll 
 
 Was paid in heartbreak and despair, 20 
 
 And men made war upon the soul. 
 Nelson. O Nelson, stepping debonair 
 
 ^7Z
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 The deck of death ! O wooden Duke, 
 
 Scorner of them by whom you were 
 Serv'd hero, whose hard answer took 25 
 
 A gibbet-shape to their acclaim. 
 
 Not here for tribute shall you look ! 
 Happier was Nelson, whose pure flame 
 
 Spir'd upwards one short hour supreme. 
 
 And flashing left no shade of blame 30 
 
 Upon a life spent like a dream. 
 
 Intense in purpose, sheer and gay 
 
 With love to light it, like a beam 
 Out of the West at shut of day. 
 
 Happy who dies in utmost deed ! 35 
 
 But you, with head and name grown gray. 
 Must overlive the work you did 
 
 Abroad, and come back home to do 
 
 Vengeance on them whose crime was need : 
 We are to see you of that crew 40 
 
 Who drove our English into riot. 
 
 Peterloo follows Waterloo ; 
 We are to see your dream of quiet 
 
 At Winchester be realiz'd. 
 
 And victims of potato-diet, 45 
 
 Wretches by famine ill-advis'd, 
 
 Strung up, or hounded from the land 
 
 Which starv'd them mad, and then mainpris'd. 
 Seek nothing here but reprimand, 
 
 O wooden Duke ! The men you drove 50 
 
 174
 
 WATERLOO AND PETERLOO 
 
 In Spain had little at your hand 
 But whip and spur to make them move. 
 
 They served you well, but neither they 
 
 Nor theirs had call to owe you love. 
 Love is not won by battle-fray ; 55 
 
 And as for honour, who would grudge 
 
 Your Duchies or your Strathfieldsaye .? 
 Not I, nor any son of Hodge. 
 
 Is there no braver work than war .? 
 
 You who think lightly of the drudge, 60 
 
 Take thought of what he drudges for : 
 
 Love of the land, the labour's sake, 
 
 Love of a woman, and the store 
 Beneath her heart, of his own make ! — 
 
 Are these things nothing? Heavy and dull, 65 
 
 Can blood alone your gross heart slake ? 
 Must you put tiger up and bull 
 
 To shame the dove ? or see the mail'd 
 
 Adventurer only purposeful ? 
 Then vainly Christ the Lord was nail'd, 70 
 
 And King Apollo herding cattle 
 
 With all his passion nought avail'd ! 
 Have we no shame even yet to battle, 
 
 Seeing how German wolves can wage it. 
 
 Who seek in drum-tap and death-rattle 75 
 
 Balm for their itching, to assuage it ? 
 
 What purpose our high hearts to tear 
 
 If not to spend the beast, and cage it ? 
 
 ^75
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 In eighteen-twelve, appointed year 
 
 Which grip'd the Robber's heart in ice, go 
 Hodge learn'd that victory costs as dear 
 
 As other martial merchandise, 
 
 The beat no worse off than the stronger. 
 When corn went up to famine price, 
 
 And starving weavers mad with hunger 85 
 
 Brake looms because their bellies rav'd. 
 What remedy had the victory-monger 
 
 But hanging — or what gained ? He stav'd 
 The harrowing of the proud awhile, 
 And won the death-hush that he crav'd ; 90 
 
 Then when the King of Elba's isle 
 Made himself Lord of Earth again. 
 Needing whom he had held for vile, 
 
 He harness'd them to his war-train. 
 
 And they stood firm, in hollow blocks 95 
 
 Of red upon the dripping plain. 
 
 While men and horses drave in shocks 
 Of headlong battle, front and flanks. 
 And brake like water on the rocks. 
 
 But never brake our English ranks. 100 
 
 They made the man who had scorn'd them. 
 
 Say, 
 England, how did you give them thanks .? 
 
 By Sidmouth and by Castlereagh, 
 
 Twin gods set up to scourge our vices. 
 More ready to fear than we to pay ! 105 
 
 176
 
 WATERLOO AND PETERLOO 
 
 For down went corn and up went prices, 
 And madden'd operatives for food 
 Serried, and took their own devices. 
 
 Since none else show'd them any good ; 
 
 And Enghsh Justices of Peace no 
 
 Swam Peterloo in English blood. 
 
 Then found the Doctor remedies 
 
 For men whose sickness was starvation, 
 Six whips to down their failing knees. 
 
 Six Acts to pin them to their station : n^ 
 
 What gat he from the hearts he broke 
 And heads he bow'd but execration ? 
 
 He gain'd a silence, like a smoke 
 
 Upon the earth, while the addle-head 
 
 Of George the Third let slip the yoke 120 
 
 For sixty years unmerited. 
 
 They changed a dullard for a rogue 
 
 When a fourth George reign'd in his stead ; 
 
 Who made adultery the vogue 
 
 At Court, and wail'd his griefs aloud 125 
 
 When his wife swell'd the catalogue 
 
 Of them who seeded what he plow'd. 
 After him raced the rout of shame, 
 The lewd, the fond, the empty-proud — 
 
 Alvanley, Yarmouth, Jersey's dame, 130 
 
 The Beau, the Poodle, in carouse. 
 While England sicken^'d at the game ; 
 
 And all the wit of Holland House, 
 
 177 N
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 All Bowood's talk and Woburn's treasure, 
 Spent not the value of a louse 135 
 
 On goaded men's content or pleasure. 
 Such were your masters, England, while 
 Hodge lay awaiting your high leisure ; 
 
 The vile defended by the vile, 
 
 With Ellenborough to wield the sword 140 
 Of Justice in the royal smile, 
 
 Aflame before the ragged horde 
 
 Who dare pick food not grudg'd a bird. 
 Or stint the franchise of their lord. 
 
 Life-sentence falls upon the herd 145 
 
 Who gleans the woods for wife and child. 
 Risking the man-trap, not deterr'd 
 
 By hanging judge, or mitred, mild 
 Descendants of the Fisherman 
 Who guard their pent sheep from the wild 150 
 
 By hanging stragglers all they can ! 
 
 The Yet audible thro' those mute years 
 
 Reform- p^ murmur'd music swell'd and ran ; 
 And there were men who scouted fears : 
 
 Parson Tooke with his razor-wit, 155 
 
 And Grey, the first among his peers. 
 And Cobbett with his centre-bit. 
 That eye which saw a spade a spade 
 However knaves might varnish it ; 
 Thelwall too, Cochrane, tough sea-blade, i6o 
 
 178 
 
 ers
 
 WATERLOO AND PETERLOO 
 
 Romilly and polite Burdett 
 
 Who, flaunting out the part he play'd, 
 Danced to the Tower in minuet ; 
 
 Last, like a restless tocsin-bell, 
 
 Mocking and brazen, resonant yet, 165 
 
 Byron, to ring his Order's knell, 
 
 The passing of the Age of Bronze, 
 
 And of his poesy as well. 
 Against high hearts no king's writ runs : 
 
 Six Acts avail'd not, twice six Bills 170 
 
 Had not been gag upon such tongues ; 
 But there's a hoarser note that fills 
 
 The car held flatways to the ground. 
 
 At first, like thunder in the hills. 
 Grumbling, it breaks in crashing sound : 175 
 
 That is the cry of slaves broke loose, 
 
 Carrying the fire the country round. 
 Dragoon'd, despis'd, and by the use 
 
 Of Speenhamlond workt like a beast ; 
 
 Yok'd to a cart, if so they choose 180 
 
 Who own him, farmer, squire and priest. 
 
 Bonded to flay him to the bones 
 
 That tithe and rent may be increast — 
 Who stands or stays to hear his groans ? — 
 
 Who knows or cares what the dog means, 185 
 
 Why now he comes with volley of stones 
 To break our new-contriv'd machines ? 
 
 They thresh the grain he may not eat, 
 
 179
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 And thresh it closer than he gleans 
 The stubble-field ; he sees in it 190 
 
 A way to dock him of his due, 
 
 The last he has — to thresh the wheat 
 And get a wages for it too. 
 
 He reasons, fed on pulse and bran ; 
 
 He darkly gauges all things new 195 
 
 As pattern'd on the devil's plan ; 
 
 Sees squire, priest, farmer, overseer. 
 
 Banded against the working-man — 
 And has good reason for his fear. 
 
 After machines, the ricks they dare ; 200 
 
 And now by night mad mobsmen cheer 
 And burn, and in the throbbing glare 
 
 Are wild white faces, hateful glee 
 
 To daunt the Reverend Mr. Hare 
 And sleek idealists such as he, 205 
 
 Who deem a man but so much grist 
 
 For heavenly milling, apt to be 
 By Bible-class shap'd optimist. 
 
 To lords in London, no such matter : 
 
 Their remedy is the heavy fist. 210 
 
 Out with our bold dragoons to scatter 
 
 The lawless herd ! Up, Mr. Attorney ! 
 
 Up, Lords Commissioners, to patter 
 The Riot Act ! The Law shall learn ye 
 
 To intimidate. The King's complainant, 215 
 
 The Iron Duke upon his journey. 
 
 180
 
 WATERLOO AND PETERLOO 
 
 Down goes his Grace, that staunch Lieutenant, 
 
 New-endow'd Lord of Strathfieldsaye, 
 
 •And hoists the black flag for his pennant 
 On Winton jail — a grateful day ! 220 
 
 What men he has alive from Spain 
 
 Are swung out of the hero's way; 
 And lads are hounded o'er the main, 
 
 Herded and huddling in the hulks ; 
 
 There are but women left to plain, 225 
 
 Or some gaunt fugitive that skulks 
 
 The dewy hollows of the Downs. 
 
 So Hodge is cow'd. They say he sulks, 
 And lay it to the guile of clowns. 
 
 So much for Hodge's dying stroke, 230 
 
 The uptake now is with the towns. 
 
 Nottingham's castle ends in smoke 
 
 Before the hussars can make bad worse ; 
 And next the men of Bristol spoke 
 
 In fire, whom swords could not disperse 235 
 
 By order'd butchery in a cause 
 No longer worth a tinker's curse. 
 
 Anarchy makes the Duke to pause 
 Who sees our Three Estates so just, 
 So past the bettering of laws ; 240 
 
 But now he yields because he must, 
 And fighting out his worst of fights. 
 Shakes from his shoes his country's dust. 
 
 181
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Reform, Brokc is the fence of kingly rights 
 '^32- Which Edward, Httle lov'd in Wales, 245 
 
 Set long ago, that the shire's knights 
 
 Might dock his barons of their vails : 
 
 Gone where such gear must go whose users 
 Make their game, " Heads I win — or tails." 
 
 Gross Henry made his heirs the losers 250 
 
 When he, to render smooth his way, 
 Packt his Parliaments : his new Sirs 
 
 Would send to pack their king one day. 
 Henry left traitor Charles discover 
 Packing a game that two could play. 255 
 
 From the foul spawn of that self-lover 
 There gadded like a fungus growth 
 That web of franchise England over 
 
 Which drain'd our land of blood and blowth. 
 The King first packt his Parliament, 260 
 
 And that the electorate ; but both 
 
 Together workt to one end — Rent ! 
 
 They shackled Hodge and suckt him dry 
 For that ; for that to war they went. 
 
 For war will keep the prices high. 265 
 
 For that they voted ; and for that 
 A man had seats to sell, or buy. 
 
 And claim'd a Seat as where you sat. 
 Not where a people needed it. 
 There might be cover for a rat : 270 
 
 It served — so it was served by writ. 
 
 182
 
 WATERLOO AND PETERLOO 
 
 My lord went down, or sent his valet. 
 
 And Bagge M.P. went up to sit : 
 You bought these things by auction-mallet ; 
 
 They went, like livings, with the land — 275 
 
 Corruption, Simony, what d'ye call it ? 
 They are so old, they sure must stand ! 
 
 But now the very stones cry. Tear 'em, 
 
 Send 'em the way that Bristol plann'd. 
 Down like a house of cards goes Barum, 280 
 
 Down goes the Cornish voting wedge ; 
 
 Gatton and Grampound, Bedwyn, Sarum, 
 Down with them all ! Stub up the hedge 
 
 That holds a nation tied and prone 
 
 Under the heel of Privilege ! 285 
 
 But let not Hodge look for his own 
 
 Ere fifty years of talk be o'er ; 
 
 The men who take the emptied throne 
 Love him than they of old no more. 
 
 Sweat him no less. Hodge and his plows 290 
 
 Are corpus vile for their lore. 
 What ! Mountain-travail and this mouse ? 
 
 The hunger-galled centuries 
 
 Split Upper House from Lower House 
 And fetch up after all but this, 295 
 
 That Spry the grocer has his whack. 
 
 And cotton-spinning Twill has his ? 
 'Tis so : the whip for Hodge's back 
 
 Is now of logic 'stead of twigs ; 
 
 ■83
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Small help to him that both can crack, 300 
 
 And comfort small that lordly Whigs 
 Sit cheek by jowl in rueful case 
 With Radicals set up in gigs. 
 
 Manchester has a barren face 
 
 For Hodge who plows the lonely acres ; 305 
 Laissez-faire keeps him in his place 
 
 Or drives him join the peace's breakers : 
 Then trust the Law know how to deal 
 Without induction from the Quakers. 
 
 But here's a something he will feel 310 
 
 When dealt to him by a priori, 
 A turn of wheat bread for his meal 
 
 After long battling for the theory 
 That Rent is not best serv'd by him 
 Who starves a hind to fatten a Tory. 315 
 
 But such a grace still glimmers dim 
 While rise the Union's iron walls, 
 On Speenhamland a comment grim. 
 
 184
 
 BOOK XII 
 
 THE SEETHING
 
 BOOK XII: THE SEETHING 
 
 O QUIET land I love so well, 
 And see so lovely as I roam 
 By woody holt or grassy swell, 
 
 Or where the sun strikes new-turn'd loam 
 
 To gleaming bronze, or by the shore 5 
 
 Follow the yellow'd curves of foam. 
 
 And see the wrinkl'd sand grow frore 
 As gives the tide. O free and brave, 
 Send me to sing the fate in store 
 
 For thine and mine as thou wouldst have, 10 
 
 Earn'd by my brothers' rough-hewn way, 
 And by my brothers in the grave ! 
 
 My fate I thank who let me stay 
 Just so long in my stricken land 
 To see my English rise up gay 15 
 
 And with our Normans take their stand, 
 Equal in peril, so resolv'd 
 To break the menace of the brand. 
 
 Strange, by that stroke the knots be solv'd 
 
 Which held two nations rop'd apart 20 
 
 While eight slow centuries revolv'd 
 
 187
 
 25 
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 And kinship ossified at heart ! 
 Yet so it was, from German lust 
 That English flower of grace could start. 
 
 Victoria, When she whose star thro' all the dust 
 
 1837- Of years to be will shine forth clear. 
 
 Naming Victoria the Just, 
 
 Took up her yoke of sixty year, 
 
 Poor Hodge, on sufferance in his garth, 
 'Twixt work and Workhouse apt to steer, 30 
 Stay'd in his gleaning of good earth, 
 Stay'd in the reek of tedded hay. 
 To heed the bells and share their mirth. 
 1838, They crown'd a queen on that June day ; 
 28 June. Ti^e ht2it lay heavy on the weald ; 5c 
 
 But he must on, and might not stay 
 While the slow wains were in the field 
 Half-piled, and horses fly-madden'd 
 Shook in the shafts, or trod and squeal'd. 
 ^ Send her victorious, give good end 40 
 
 To all her battles, may she find 
 The God of Jacob for her friend ! 
 So might he sing with steadfast mind. 
 And deem the prayer as good as any. 
 Reckoning kings and all that kind 45 
 
 As bald-faced heads upon a penny. 
 Changing in feature, not in skill 
 To make one do the work of many. 
 
 188
 
 THE SEETHING 
 
 Her ministries might form and fill — 
 
 Melbourne or Peel or Palmerston — 50 
 
 Appointed as electors will 
 On hustings, which he gapes upon, 
 
 And marks beer flow and banners dip, 
 
 And sees Squire Western or Lord John 
 Exchange with farmer grip for grip ; 55 
 
 Or hears their breathless periods 
 
 Hailing a newfound partnership 
 'Twixt men of birth and men of clods, 
 
 Wherefrom it seems, there must arise 
 
 New Heaven, new Earth, new men, new gods. 60 
 It may be so : Hodge rubs his eyes 
 
 And picks his work up where he dropt it ; 
 
 Serene the field of fallow lies 
 After the shaven sheep have cropt it : 
 
 Work is eternal, so is want ; 65 
 
 No 'lection yet has ever stopt it, 
 Though sure is each new postulant 
 
 That he has found for every hole 
 
 The very peg you ought to plant. 
 
 How stood our man what time the Poll 70 
 
 Went humming, full of days to be ? 
 
 He had the House instead of the Dole, 
 Nine shillings a week for all his fee ; 
 
 One or two more in harvest-time, 
 
 His hovel his while he could see 75 
 
 189
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 His way to work ; but past his prime, 
 Darkly before him loom'd the day 
 When eld is treated as a crime. 
 
 Yet in the village the young ones play ; 
 
 Yet courting swain woos bashful maid ; go 
 
 Yet children come the ancient way, 
 
 And man and wife are not afraid, 
 
 Nor know themselves as rarely nobbled 
 As ever when the Norman's blade 
 
 Ruled England, and a man was hobbled 85 
 
 To Manor. Worse his present store. 
 For when his chin is silver-stubbled 
 
 They shift him from his cottage-door 
 And send him pack. The house is tied, 
 But he — he's old, his day is o'er ; 90 
 
 The Union takes him : let him bide. 
 The Rail, O changeless fate and changeless dream 
 1839- Within a changing countryside ! 
 
 Now is the hour of rail and steam, 
 
 And still our conscripts of the soil 95 
 
 Work on the glebe thro' shower and gleam 
 
 To furnish others' corn and oil 
 
 For pence a day, without a thought 
 That that was theirs whereon they toil, 
 
 And without them the land is nought ; 100 
 
 Nor guessing how the iron road 
 Might cost them more than ever it brought. 
 
 It brought the city and its god 
 
 190
 
 THE SEETHING 
 
 Into the realm of grass and sky. 
 
 The horse at noon which stands anod 105 
 
 Or flings his bag of chaff on high 
 
 Pricks up his ears to hear the rattle 
 
 Or see the vivid steam fling by ; 
 And the day comes when Hodge must battle 
 
 With work alone, and leave his son no 
 
 Prove whether men must plod like cattle 
 And lie cast out, by work foredone, 
 
 Unown'd, unneeded, one with sorrow, 
 
 No spit of land to call their own. 
 The Cfl//The town calls men from garth and furrow ; 115 
 ./ Town. r^^^ j^j^^ .g emptied of its youth : 
 
 The dear-won sweets of earth to borrow, 
 The use of love, the meed of truth, 
 
 Work's sake, the holiness of rest. 
 
 The soil which owns men sib and couth — 120 
 Stifled by maggots in a nest ! 
 
 There where the labour of men's hands 
 
 It render'd grimly, without zest. 
 And Rage holds Grief in iron bands, 
 
 And Grief on fetters wrings her teeth ; 125 
 
 Where women look on broken strands 
 Of faith and promise bruis'd beneath 
 
 The devil's hoof of circumstance ; 
 
 And the pale children scold and seethe, 
 Too early thrown a crumb to chance — 130 
 
 There let Hodge send his son to school, 
 
 191
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 To win by hate what sufferance wants ! 
 There mote he learn how tyrants rule, 
 
 How men, like masters, make array, 
 
 While Honour has her bosomful 135 
 
 Of shame, and Sloth need not dismay : 
 
 The game goes to the longer purse 
 
 Or stouter stomach this new way. 
 There mote he learn how ill spells worse. 
 
 How masters' bad blood makes men's high, 140 
 
 How money-grudging ministers, 
 And Strike is Lock-out's mimicry : 
 
 The war of waiting, the war of food. 
 
 To fight with famine, and let no cry, 
 As if a man in his own blood 145 
 
 Should drown his foe, or for oriflamme 
 
 Tear out his heart and find that good 
 To rally his friends with ere death came. 
 
 There mote he learn the lust of rage. 
 
 Or from his shoulders shrug the blame, 150 
 Saying, God has us in a cage. 
 
 Here is no scope for armistice ; 
 
 The womb's remorseless tutelage. 
 Moulding what shall be by what is, 
 
 Gives meat to tooth that has no pity, 155 
 
 The manna of unrighteousness. 
 Young lad, young lass, the fresh or pretty. 
 
 What shall they have who drove despair 
 
 To the bitter schooling of the city ? 
 
 192
 
 THE SEETHING 
 
 Manches- Manchester still says, Laissez-faire ; i6o 
 
 ur Logic. Manchester, strong in Parliament, 
 
 Says, Trade has made us what we are ; 
 
 Money breeds quicklier than rent. 
 
 Let land go sick and men grow sallow 
 
 In humming mill, in gallery bent 165 
 
 To win the coal where seams run shallov/ : 
 Here is the future, England ! Trade, 
 And leave the farmer's acres fallow. 
 
 All things conspire, the rails are laid. 
 
 Great ships will bear you off by steam ; 170 
 The mill-hand flickers like a blade 
 
 When work is done ; the mill-girls deem 
 The country wench a wanting-wit 
 Who never saw the gas-lamps gleam. 
 
 Nor suckt an orange in the pit, 175 
 
 Nor in the music-hall gave tongue 
 When Champagne Charlie ruffled it. 
 
 The town is open to the young ; 
 As for the land, 'tis very old ; 
 Let Granfer go on scattering dung, 180 
 
 Working for ha'pence in the cold ; 
 Fortune lies laughing in the town. 
 Whose streets, they say, are paved with gold. 
 
 So old Hodge dreams upon his down. 
 
 And young Hodge trips the primrose way, 185 
 And hunts the iris-bubble blown 
 
 Ever before him, till he's gray ; 
 
 193 o
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 And shredding like the morning mist 
 The gaudy thing is whiskt away 
 
 To lure another optimist. 190 
 
 Fast on his glebe old Hodge is rooted. 
 Too stiff to ope his horny fist 
 
 To catch at what from town is bruited, 
 Or else too slow ; and after him 
 Still comes another, his way suited 195 
 
 Serving the land, his thought too dim 
 To appraise his lot. He judges better 
 That he to Nature it should trim, 
 
 What though the galling of his fetter 
 
 Should seal a callous on the mind, 200 
 
 And numb the soul to save a tetter. 
 
 He could not learn how wrongs may bind 
 Man unto man ; how you may rob 
 Your own kin to advance your kind. 
 
 And so do well. He swell'd a mob, 205 
 
 But never serried in phalanx, 
 Nor rais'd a Union from his club — 
 
 God bless him and his sturdy flanks ! 
 
 Free But if God sec a pack well speeded 
 
 ^s'^^i And let a singling hound draw blanks } 210 
 None the less Hodge plugg'd on unheeded 
 By Gods above and Whigs below ; 
 Yet won the corn he sorely needed 
 When Cobden struck for Trade his blow, 
 
 194
 
 THE SEETHING 
 
 And Peel struck, and by gran rifiuto — 215 
 
 Broke troth, but sav'd his honour so. 
 Bentinck might rage and Dizzy blow to 
 
 A flame his bile white-hot and scathing — 
 
 Withal the world knows, as he knew too, 
 That should he catch the Whigs a-bathing 220 
 
 He'd steal their clothes, as steal he did : 
 
 Such grigs hold politics a plaything. 
 Natheless the Sliding-scale hath slid 
 
 To nothingness ; there's wheat galore. 
 
 Hodge gets his gallon of white bread 225 
 
 Where he'd had rye and bran before. 
 
 And sometimes horsebeans for his pain. 
 
 And sometimes none — God pity the poor ! 
 Yet there were men, and are again, 
 
 Who cried the commonwealth betray 'd, 230 
 
 Saying, " Keep prices up amain 
 If you would see high wages paid : 
 
 Why, what if bread goes up a penny .? 
 
 Think of your wages, and our trade." 
 But Hodge : " My father hadn't any 235 
 
 When corn was up in Thirty-one. 
 
 They mout have hanged un, one of many. 
 But he slipt out. What had he done 
 
 But sought to feed hisself and mother 
 
 Who had no milk to feed me on ^ 240 
 
 An' now you raise a moil and pother 
 
 To bring me back those hungry days : 
 
 195
 
 THE SONG OF THE ^PLOW 
 
 • 
 Tell me the farmer Is my brother ! 
 
 Ask him a Saturday what he says, 
 
 Seeing as the hay sold smartish well, 245 
 
 Whether my money he mid raise. 
 
 Raise me my , and bid to hell 
 
 The likes of me : 'tis what he'd do — 
 And me stone-breaking for a spell ! " 
 
 Hodge has a rhetoric, like his brew, 250 
 
 A something bitter, with a smack 
 Of camomile about it too. 
 
 Redoubtable ! whose quips would crack 
 While the rheumatics ache and twitch 
 About his own down-driven back. 255 
 
 1851. Yet trade goes briskly : we grow rich 
 
 Tho' land lie lean and peasants dwindle ; 
 Within another hemistich 
 
 You'll hear enough your thoughts to kindle. 
 They raise the Glasshouse on the green 260 
 To hymn the triumph of the spindle 
 
 Over the plow. Alas ! good Queen, 
 You hail'd a flashlight for a star : 
 " The greatest glory Peace has seen," 
 
 Quod you ! Come three years we had war ; 265 
 And on war's back a Mutiny 
 There where our servants Hindus are. 
 
 Strange folk, who strive for liberty 
 By methods we have consecrate, 
 
 196
 
 THE SEETHING 
 
 To make men slaves lest slaves we be. 270 
 
 Thus our old masters serv'd their state. 
 And thus our burgesses have learn'd 
 Procfss of The trick of it. You dar'd your fate 
 Empire, jj^ some far land ; your fortunes turn'd : 
 
 Red-sworded then you claim'd the span 275 
 Your heavy-mailed fist had earn'd. 
 
 How else was Hodge made William's man, 
 Save by the rascal's hardiesse F 
 How else came we by Hindostan ? 
 
 How else do weasels, to possess 280 
 
 The rabbit's blood .? A little lower 
 Than angels, we ! A generous guess. 
 
 Tarnish is on us, how we scour 
 
 And rinse — yet God be thankt, with mirth 
 Our men serve Freedom at this hour ! 285 
 
 Freedom. Regent of men, of Mother Earth 
 
 The spouse, to whom she and her brood 
 Stand to do service, nothing worth 
 
 Save as free gift, for reason good ! 
 
 Say, hath not Hodge beseem'd thee well, 290 
 Sounding thy name across the flood. 
 
 When, bond by free, he fought and fell. 
 Fought on, and lived, and did endure 
 Against the despot's manacle ? 
 
 See how his birthright does inure, 295 
 
 That even unfree he dare not brook 
 A hand against his Cynosure, 
 
 197
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 A troth-plight broke, a saucy look ! 
 
 What makes he now of Englishmen 
 
 Who our tough mettle so mistook ? 300 
 
 Nought of this horror lay in ken 
 
 What time Law's slow-enlarging tide 
 
 Swam to the mark where now my pen 
 May fathom what it dim-descried 
 
 Centuries past, when Bonaccord 305 
 
 Padded about the countryside — 
 This namely, Hodge and Hodge's lord 
 
 Stand level by the Ballot-box. 
 
 Level ? So once, by cruse unpour'd, 
 Stood long-bill'd stork and short-nebb'd fox ; 310 
 
 And stork fed full, the while his guest 
 
 Tipt not the vessel on the rocks. 
 What more than franchise have the best, 
 
 Say you, who have not read my scrolls : 
 
 What need he but his voice attest ? 
 Vote-catching's in, that game of polls — 
 
 Here's a new voter worth attention. 
 
 From Whig and Tory dangle doles. 
 Allotments here, an old-age pension ; 
 
 Insurance, or that blessed thing, 320 
 
 Tariff, as poverty-prevention. 
 IhfRing. Even as you'll see an auction-ring 
 
 Bid high, bid low, nor guess a knock-out. 
 
 So at the poll with shop-dressing : 
 The rival traders set their stock out, 325 
 
 198 
 
 315
 
 THE SEETHING 
 
 Having agreed to pool the plunder. 
 
 How comes it else one Court will lock out 
 Those whom it stands to serve ? A wonder ! 
 
 To grant land-holding by an Act, 
 
 And split the awarding of it asunder — 330 
 
 'Twixt whom? 'Twixt who had and who lackt? 
 
 Nay, but 'twixt squire at home and squire 
 
 In County Council ! Sober fact. 
 So this : the village-mote's desire 
 
 May not by village be effected ; 335 
 
 No, but by them who own or hire 
 The villagers — 'tis true, elected — 
 
 True, but who knows his country's quips 
 
 Will know why Hodge is not neglected 
 At 'lection times, by ladyships. 340 
 
 Hodge at Then nostrums fly for Hodge's fancy : 
 
 A tax on corn now ! Best of tips. 
 By some sleight-handed nigromancy 
 
 Wages will run upstairs to meet it. 
 
 Some say the thing is more than chancy ; 345 
 You need but name it to defeat it. 
 
 These offer land ; those say, " Absurd ! 
 
 What's land to Hodge .? He cannot eat it." 
 But none so far as I have heard 
 
 Say, " He is wrong'd; let wrong be righted. "350 
 
 Ransom indeed's an ugly word 
 For lips of councillors beknighted, 
 
 Or set upon the broad high-road 
 
 199 
 
 Election.
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Where limber tongue may be requited. 
 
 And Hodge, who never feared the goad, 355 
 
 Has for all this fine talk his qualms : 
 Long has he journey'd with his load 
 
 And no man yet has found him balms 
 To ease him gall'd or lead him blind, 
 Or cross with silver his hard palms. 360 
 
 He doubts, and cunning comes to mind ; 
 Then baffled touts who lookt to buy 
 His interest for their usury find 
 
 He is not handy to the ply. 
 
 They wring the pipe, he will not dance ; 365 
 They toss their hands : the rogue is sly ! 
 
 On one and all you look askance. 
 And it's no wonder ; yet it's true. 
 Had you the hang o't, now's your chance 
 
 To win your own back — if you knew ! 370 
 
 But you are as you always were 
 Since on the chalk-hills throve the yew. 
 
 On your own feet, tho' they go bare, 
 Wise in the lore of wind and weather. 
 Patient and mild, with pride to spare, 375 
 
 Pliant as withe — and tough as leather ! 
 
 <The Now, as when wool again shows thick 
 
 Carrion- Qu back of cwc and teg and wether 
 rytrs. ^ goodly colouy of tick 
 
 Will feed and fasten, so now swarm 380 
 
 200
 
 THE SEETHING 
 
 They who a sustenance can pick 
 Out of man's hankering for harm. 
 
 Hodge is a voter, and can read, 
 
 Thanks to the length of Forster's arm — 
 Out then, ye Dungflies, buzz and breed ; 385 
 
 Cozen 'em, tempt 'em, bleed 'em, flay 'em ! 
 
 We are the mongers that they need, 
 OfFal and carrion to purvey 'em. 
 
 Base is the slave whom doubts deter : 
 
 Men whisper rumours — why not bray 'em? 390 
 " Pictures in Court — The Ha'p'ny Blur ! " 
 
 Is Hodge a right koprophagite .? 
 
 Behold his right koprographer. 
 O my young men, when times are tight 
 
 Do for your halfpence all a penny may. 395 
 
 Be false, be true, but oh, be bright ; 
 If short of slaver, yet be venomy : 
 
 Hint shame broadcast if none appears ! 
 I How shall Hodge cope with this new enemy ? 
 
 Century's The land is sick and full of fears. 400 
 
 End. ^j^(j yQ^^ Q hopeless, heartsick ye. 
 
 Sick with your surfeit of salt tears 
 And heritage of agony. 
 
 What have we made of you, O Earth, 
 
 Since of your lap you made us free ? 405 
 
 For our blithe lads and girls of worth 
 
 Their home a place of pilgrimage, 
 
 201
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Where sorrow's finger points their mirth 
 The haven of their faihng age. 
 
 Hungry, they shall have stones for meat ; 410 
 
 Homeless, the bald-eyed Poorhouse cage — 
 Discrep- What time his lordship in his seat 
 ^^^y- Born of a woman, even as they. 
 
 Has three tall men to help him eat : 
 One to take his platter away, 415 
 
 One to put a clean one down. 
 
 And one the couple to survey. 
 What has he to share with a clown, 
 
 Should one seek his doors of pride. 
 
 Having brav'd the gateward's frown, 420 
 
 To hob and nob, sit side by side ! 
 
 As well expect the Penitent Thief 
 
 See gerent of the Crucified 
 In Canterbury's mitred chief 
 
 As Hodge, whose thatch is tumbling in, 425 
 
 Go to his lordship for relief. 
 Here is the mischief — whose the sin .? 
 
 Who will bring Hodge and lord acquaint .? 
 
 And can the leopard change his skin t 
 
 Sirs, since your fathers earn'd the taint, 430 
 
 Seeing that they ground the face of the poor, 
 And now are gone, sinner and saint, 
 
 Therefore this woe is at your door ; 
 Therefore on you the heavy stour 
 
 202
 
 THE SEETHING 
 
 That he who has shall have no more. 435 
 
 Inheritance was your strong tower, 
 
 And there's inheritance of wrong 
 
 As well as right ; this is the hour 
 When you must take it up, for strong 
 
 The weak is made ; and to his hand 440 
 
 The whirligigs of time belong. 
 Face you the Angel with the brand. 
 
 His eyes unbound, his longsword naked ; 
 
 Hear him : Your fathers held this land, 
 A trust upon it, but they brake it, 445 
 
 Now it is escheat, now the sand 
 
 Is run. 'Tis Hodge's. Let him take it. 
 
 203
 
 ENVOY 
 
 NEW DOMESDAY
 
 ENVOY: NEW DOMESDAY 
 
 Duar^' I ^^^^E was a time— how fondly dream'd 
 I And long ago ! whenas I thought 
 
 X To see your sufferance redeem'd 
 
 By the same use whereby 'twas wrought ; 
 
 And in the mind I still'd the heart 5 
 
 To endure the woe for what it brought. 
 
 But who shall woe from woe dispart, 
 Or how ill blood with ill agree ? 
 Or shall a new wound salve the smart 
 
 Of an old wound ? Alas, to see lo 
 
 You sweep remorseless as a tide 
 Over the land from sea to sea. 
 
 Men by long grievance justified 
 
 To put down tyranny — and in the act 
 Whelming the proud, to ape their pride ! 15 
 'J'he Keener revenge and nobler pact 
 
 Awaken- tit- i i i 
 
 tng. Were yours, to hold your antient wrong 
 
 Nothing beside the staring fact. 
 You faced the dawn, I knew you strong — 
 
 Even in that hour the German Death, 20 
 
 Like the bright sword by one hair swung. 
 Was pulsing time out with short breath ; 
 
 207
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 And every man must stand to vow 
 Hov;^ he would live, and in what faith. 
 
 Hodge See there upon the hill's broad brow, 25 
 
 chooses. Where first you saw him, Hodge at gaze ; 
 A bondsman once, a hireling now. 
 
 Half conscious of the broadening ways : 
 Look well on him, how he comes down 
 To front the terror of these days. 30 
 
 Over the sea the fame is blown, 
 A shadow'd fear not yet a shape, 
 Which husht the tumult of the town 
 
 And made men stand like fools agape : 
 
 A doubt, a dread, a Can it be ? 35 
 
 A wild look all ways for escape ; 
 
 But like a storm scourging the sea, 
 A blur of fog which was not cloud. 
 With spindrift edges flying free 
 
 Like smoke, and underneath that shroud 40 
 
 Riotous waters, livid, wan. 
 Swirling and hissing, wave acrowd 
 
 On waves' back — onward the news ran 
 On a chill wind, and men abasht 
 Lookt at each other, man on man, 45 
 
 And waited till the first drop splasht. 
 While the great wave of horror grew, 
 Tower'd over Europe, cream'd and crasht 
 
 Over his England ; and Hodge knew 
 
 208
 
 NEW DOMESDAY 
 
 The time was come when he must choose 50 
 For God, or no-God, even he too ; 
 
 For now it was not to refuse. 
 
 Little reckt he of such high work 
 As made the Presses hum with news 
 
 Of England bottling like a cork 55 
 
 The Baltic peoples ; vain to speak 
 To him of Balkan or the Turk : 
 
 He knows them less than he knows Greek. 
 Out of his simple mouth 'tis spoken, 
 " The mighty have opprest the weak ; 60 
 
 The word was past and has been broken ; 
 Belgium was free and now is not — 
 Up ! Are we free } Then by that token 
 
 Free we the slaves by powder and shot ! " 
 
 He made no boast, grudged no old scar, 65 
 Sought nothing that he had not got. 
 
 But took his place affronting war, 
 The slow, the patient child of Earth, 
 By them on whom a happier star 
 
 Shone to forecast a happier birth : 70 
 
 All brothers now ! for thus, one race, 
 We met the odds with decent mirth. 
 
 See them swing out, of open face. 
 Clear-eyed and careless, having made 
 The Great Assent ; with quickening pace, 75 
 With laughter and song ! Ah, woodland glade, 
 How are you silent in your gold ! 
 
 209 p
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Ah, sunburnt hill and orchard-shade, 
 
 Ah, river twinkling manifold 
 
 Thro' meadow flats and meadowsweet, go 
 
 These lads are young and ye are old. 
 
 Withal ye gave them of your teat ; 
 For they are England even as ye. 
 Bone of your bone, meat of your meat — 
 
 Weep not, but hold a solemn glee 85 
 
 In that clear courage and deep pride 
 Which call'd your sons of each degree 
 
 To dare the terror side by side, 
 
 Norman and English, sinking name 
 
 In one — and that Tyrannicide. 90 
 
 See there the poacher of the game, 
 
 And there the master of men and pheasants. 
 And there the man who makes them tame 
 
 And drives them over guns for presents — 
 
 Who shall care now such blood to class 95 
 And docket men as lords or peasants ? 
 
 Tantane Travail'd the Chaos to this pass ? 
 Ira? y-Q ^]-jjg gj^(] ^^g ^}^g Q^\y conceiv'd ? 
 
 To this end from the stirring mass 
 The Alpine backbone was upheav'd ? 100 
 
 Was it for this end took their shape 
 
 The well-lov'd fields, the many-sheav'd, 
 Or man, the master, raised his nape — 
 
 To raven all down one red chasm, 
 
 210
 
 ERRATUM. 
 Page 211, line 122, for " Unsprung," read " Upsprung.
 
 NEW DOMESDAY 
 
 And sink his kind, who had slough'd the ape, 105 
 
 To new abysmal protoplasm ? 
 
 There was no horror like to this, 
 
 The wide world in one lockt orgasm — 
 
 Not when on clifF-girt Salamis 
 
 By every sea-road Persian hordes no 
 
 Converging, focuss'd upon Greece ; 
 
 Nor when the storm of Saracen swords 
 Swept a broad road thro' swathes of men 
 And rais'd new nations and new lords 
 
 From Egypt to the bar of Spain ; 115 
 
 Nor when the glutted vulture preen'd 
 His neck, and saw the Polish fen 
 
 Blacken'd and silent, and well-glean'd ! 
 Those men with men in battle spoke. 
 And men like men in death were keen'd ; 120 
 
 But now they are blown away like smoke. 
 Legions of men by mine unsprung. 
 Or in foul fog are merged, to choke 
 
 And foam away their sodden lung : 
 
 Now man is minister of Death 125 
 
 Like him who over Egypt flung 
 
 His flaggy wing, as Scripture saith. 
 And slew the firstborn. Even so, 
 Not peace, but a sword, said Nazareth ; 
 
 But we : " He spake it long ago 130 
 
 And we have prov'd the saying vain." 
 Now stands He justified : we know 
 
 21 1
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 The beast in man is not yet slain. 
 
 Weep not your dead, they are eloquent ; 
 
 They grave their Credo deep in pain ; 135 
 
 High faith in high deed will find vent ; 
 
 With each bright drop of golden blood 
 
 We blazon our New Testament. 
 
 An Old As up by Kennetside I rode 
 
 Thought. Prom Newbury to Savernake, 140 
 
 I thought what sounds had charged her flood 
 
 Since Norman William's sword fell slack — 
 What cheers of triumph and what groans 
 This funded earth had echoed back, 
 
 This soil made deep with English bones, 145 
 
 Made rich with blood of Englishmen, 
 Whose rede lies graven in the stones 
 
 A-litter on the hillside ! Then, 
 
 Grieving the willow-border'd mead, 
 Grieving the flower-haunted fen, 150 
 
 The broad-eav'd farms, the nobly-treed, 
 The eddying river stemm'd with mills, 
 My eyes sought comfort in their need 
 
 And found the everlasting hills. 
 
 And rested there. " Let purple ink 155 
 
 Content," said I, " the eagle-quills ; 
 
 A drabber fluid shall mine drink 
 
 To hymn the plowshare, not the brand ; 
 I'll voice the tears upon the brink 
 
 212
 
 NEW DOMESDAY 
 
 That often dript upon the hand. i6o 
 
 And if it be that all the sighs 
 
 I hear behind the brazen band 
 Shall be assuaged ; and if men's eyes 
 
 Look forthright cheerly once again, 
 
 With prescience may my pen be wise, 165 
 
 And my heart apt to tongue the strain 
 
 Of England held by English folk, 
 
 And English folk not cleft in twain ! 
 What's Empire but a sable smoke 
 
 Crowning a smother of ill-content ? 170 
 
 Lazarus sore in a silk cloak, 
 With sharp bones staring thro' a rent ! 
 
 Who, knowing the leper's maddening itch 
 
 Beneath the stiff habiliment. 
 Would not give all that made him rich 175 
 
 For one clear day that saw him sane. 
 
 Whole man, altho' without a stitch 
 To cover him from wind and rain ? " 
 
 Then, where the forest on the ridge 
 
 Thrusts his green shoulder to the plain, 180 
 I saw the end of Privilege. 
 
 A blood-red rainbow over-archt 
 Our cloven land, which like a bridge 
 Our men cross'd over. — Faint and parcht. 
 
 Blind, maim'd, tormented, spent and dim, 185 
 The halting broken legions marcht, 
 
 213
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Helping each other, with what limb 
 
 Remain'd to one, by other lost. 
 
 So lean'd the legless man to him 
 Who yet had his, for propping-post, 190 
 
 And the blind turn'd his empty face 
 
 To him who saw ; and so they crost 
 The gulf upon that Bridge of Grace 
 
 Together, brothers in accord, 
 
 With thousands more in the same case. 195 
 
 O crowning light upon the sword ! 
 
 Here, of these men of English earth. 
 
 Which is the servant, which the lord. 
 And whose the fee-simple by birth ? 
 
 Upon the bridge stood One who said : 200 
 
 " All Englishmen are now one worth. 
 And all one kindred with the dead, 
 
 And share the goodly heritage 
 
 For which their forefathers have bled. 
 Presume not palter with the gage 205 
 
 They lifted, nor your own forget : 
 
 You stinted not the noble rage 
 They had ; now, with the sword still wet, 
 
 See England conquer'd by her own. 
 
 And carve the conquest out, and set 210 
 
 The cantle due of vill and town." 
 
 l^ew Then I saw Sarum, in my dream, 
 
 sea c 
 214 
 
 Domes- Breasting her open sea of down.
 
 NEW DOMESDAY 
 
 Whose ripples are the shadow and gleam 
 
 As the clouds hang, or drive and pass ; 215 
 
 And there the hero-host did seem 
 A countless flock upon the grass. 
 
 High on the rampart thron'd a king, 
 
 Prouder than ever William was, 
 Whose cope was like an eagle's wing 220 
 
 Folded, adone with lean and soar, 
 
 Whose sceptre-hand had no great ring. 
 Whose orb was crystal clear and hoar : 
 
 I saw the crown upon his head 
 
 Flame, though no diamond it bore — 225 
 
 " This is no earthly king," I said. 
 
 Beardless he was, and calm, and grave ; 
 
 His face was like a God's ; he had 
 The ease that Caryatids have. 
 
 Who drink deep bosomfuls of air, 230 
 
 Holding a temple architrave. 
 His speaking voice was still and rare. 
 
 Like a wind's calling thro' far trees 
 
 High on an upland stark and bare. 
 More constant than the fretful sea's ; 235 
 
 And thus he spake from the green hill 
 
 To all those waiting companies : — 
 " That which made England makes her still : 
 
 You who have ransom'd by shed blood 
 
 Your right to harvest what you till, 240 
 
 Your right to hold what you make good, 
 
 215
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Let right be done henceforth to all, 
 
 That all may be a brotherhood." 
 Then thron'd he there imperial, 
 
 And one by one the conquerors came, 245 
 
 As he was cried by herald tall. 
 And told his title and his claim ; 
 
 And when his deed stood manifest 
 
 A trumpet shrilled it like a flame. 
 Then said the King : " Tell now the best 250 
 
 England can do for your deserving ; " 
 
 And ere he named it all the rest 
 Stood with wet eyes their mate observing. 
 
 Waiting to clinch the guesswork shrewd 
 
 They'd made of him with faith unswerving. 255 
 fhe So before all a young man stood 
 Claims. With flickering lids and chin tiltwise. 
 
 As of one listening in a wood 
 To feel which way the sunlight lies. 
 
 " I look no more upon the sun," 260 
 
 Said he. " I gave my pair of eyes. 
 Give me a cottage, a handy one 
 
 Where I can hear the youngsters pass. 
 
 And have a portion in the fun." 
 Another said : " Give me all grass ; 265 
 
 For since the German-hounded Turk 
 
 Bit me a leg, the man I was 
 Is not the man I bring to work. 
 
 But with some grassland FU make shift 
 
 216
 
 NEW DOMESDAY 
 
 To live by raising stot or stirk, 270 
 
 Or sheep may be, if I have thrift." 
 Next a young man stood, very fair, 
 Calm-eyed, who had the Norman lift 
 
 To his proud head, and lookt the heir 
 
 To centuries of rule. Said he, 275 
 
 " I took what came, and had no care 
 
 For how or wherefore. Now I see 
 What I can do. I want no lands — 
 Give me some work — make use of me. 
 
 I have my eyes and pair of hands ; 280 
 
 There should be ventures left for such 
 As look for them, while England stands." 
 
 He blusht for talking overmuch. 
 
 Then took his task and gave his room 
 
 To one who hung upon his crutch, 285 
 
 A sharp-faced twitcher like a groom. 
 Who, broken in the Dardanelles, 
 Made thus his homely bid for doom : 
 
 " Sir, this is all their blessed shells 
 
 Have left me, but I'm not dead yet. 290 
 
 If I could have the Ring of Bells 
 
 I'd still make out my keep to get — 
 And maybe pay my funeral." 
 Then came a woman pale with fret. 
 
 In widow-weeds, a woman small : 295 
 
 " I sent my man and my four sons 
 After the drum. I sent them all. 
 
 217
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 They fell before the German guns. 
 
 What can you give to bring them back ? " 
 Bitter reproach was in her tones ; 300 
 
 But the King comforted her lack, 
 
 Saying, " Blessed are you who spend ! 
 A festal robe is this your black. 
 Witness that more than life you lend 
 
 Unto the land that gave you birth. 305 
 
 Greater love is there not, nor end 
 More pious ; nor can mannish worth 
 Climb to the height whereon you stand. 
 Live you, love on, and sweeten earth." 
 Her eyes swam full at that command, 310 
 
 And deep she breathed ; and there was no man 
 But did her honour in our land. 
 And next came one, led by a woman, 
 Young, with the face of a hurt child, 
 His shockt eyes wavering and not human ; 315 
 And oft he flincht, and next he smil'd 
 As if he had caught himself. Then pity 
 Set him to weep himself beguil'd. 
 Anon his nurse : " Arras the city 
 
 Was rain'd upon by shot and shell ; 320 
 
 Thereby this lad once brave and witty 
 Became the thing you see him still. 
 
 Ten nights and days he might not sleep. 
 But serv'd the apprenticeship of Hell — 
 Then a long scream, the earth did leap, 325 
 
 Men were toss'd out like scattered dung, 
 
 218
 
 NEW DOMESDAY 
 
 And lay as wreckage ; but one did creep 
 
 On all-fours where this lad was flung. 
 Thinking he liv'd, and dragg'd him out, 
 Pitying his mother — and he so young. 330 
 
 Now he is witless, at a shout 
 
 Will start and fumble for his gun ; 
 Or he will cry and rock about 
 
 For no plain reason." That thron'd One 
 
 Set hand on him, and by the chin 335 
 
 Lifted his face ; and " Oh, my son," 
 
 Said he, " why, what a work, to win 
 The sun again to gladden you, 
 And of your tears draw mist to spin 
 
 A veil half golden and half blue 340 
 
 Across the past, until it seem 
 Like to the radiant deed it drew. 
 
 Such a high deed as young men dream 
 But not achieve. But you, my lad. 
 Are happier yet, than yet you deem." 345 
 
 Then to his nurse, " Go on," he said, 
 " Turn to your work ; but ours shall be 
 Pattern'd on yours, as good and glad." 
 
 And all the host held like the sea 
 
 On burning noons of southern calm 350 
 
 When the light flecks innumerably 
 
 The little freshets, and like balm 
 
 A steady wind blows from the West, 
 And softly wave the fronds of palm, 
 
 And the stork sleeps, bill sunk in breast. 355 
 
 219
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 7he Now when of all that mighty host 
 
 Marvel. There was no claim left unexprest, 
 The King stood motionless and lost 
 
 In memories thronging ; and I strove 
 
 Myself with wonder, which was most 360 
 
 To wonder, that so mighty love 
 
 These men had testified (with those 
 
 Who, dying, testified above). 
 Or this appraisal of their throes 
 
 As they themselves had figured it. 365 
 
 " Now let them learn how England goes 
 To war," methought, "and how is quit ! 
 
 Blood, nerve and limb her men will give. 
 
 And keep alone that which makes sweet 
 Blood, nerve and limb, the zest to live 370 
 
 And love and labour on the ground. 
 
 Holding their old prerogative 
 To stand alone, to no man bound ; 
 
 Then, with that unexhausted fire. 
 
 Homeward to where their fathers found 375 
 No man held worthy of his hire 
 
 They come — and all they ask shall be 
 
 A lugg of ground, a bite, a byre 
 To hold a heifer. O ye free, 
 
 It was for this your fathers plow'd 380 
 
 The flinty fields of misery. 
 That you should in their pride be proud 
 
 And for their wretchedness ask no fee, 
 
 But vow yourselves because they vow'd, 
 
 220
 
 NEW DOMESDAY 
 
 And hold the faith they died to see 385 
 
 Trac'd on the snow-white field in blood, 
 
 The burning cross of Liberty ! " 
 Now, as I thought, the great King stood, 
 
 And over all the peopled plain 
 
 There fell that hush, as when a wood 390 
 
 Is sober'd suddenly, and the rain 
 
 Drives over it, and we stand still 
 
 And see the tree-tops all astrain. 
 And hear the wind, but no wind feel. 
 
 And then he spoke, and his far voice 395 
 
 Was like that same wind over a hill : 
 
 The " You, for whose deeds no organ noise 
 Award. Will throb Te Detim^ yet in whom 
 
 The great Arbitrament lay in choice, 
 
 And as you chose should fall the Doom — 400 
 Now hear ; the land you have redeem'd 
 Is yours by conquest, to resume. 
 
 Not for your profit have you schemed. 
 Nor ventur'd all for your reward ; 
 None, since the Corsican, has dream'd 405 
 
 To pass your seas, and none has dar'd 
 
 Since Philip's galleons hemm'd the West 
 And Drake steered out from Plymouth Hard, 
 
 And the South-West wind did the rest — 
 
 No, but you knew us inviolate, 410 
 
 Yet stood for them that were opprest ; 
 
 Thus you serv'd more than King or State, 
 
 221
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW 
 
 Since you serv'd all men far or near, 
 
 Discerning Freedom in debate ! 
 Hard won is she ; hard earn'd the fear 415 
 
 Of men gone mad with greed and boast ; 
 
 Blessed is she, and yet more dear 
 The men who won her ; and yet most 
 
 Blessed of all the land new won — 
 
 Yours by the sword from coast to coast. 420 
 As I decree so be it done : 
 
 A tithe of his land let each man spare, 
 
 Or of his money if he have none ; 
 In giving be he debonair. 
 
 As if his left serv'd his right hand 425 
 
 And fear'd to be the last to share. 
 Thus Hodge shall win at last his land — 
 
 You, Earl of forty thousand acres, 
 
 Give your four thousand ; you who stand 
 Master of five, for the new takers 430 
 
 Give your two roods, to avoid the shame 
 
 That England scorn her Empire-makers ; — 
 For such they are who fought and came 
 
 Back to their land of birthright old. 
 
 Masters by right of all men's fame." 435 
 
 God speed the plow ! The tale is told. 
 
 9 March 19 16.
 
 NOTES 
 
 #
 
 NOTES 
 
 There can be no attempt to write a History of England in 
 these notes. The poem has been designed to be self-sufficient 
 from its own standpoint, and to present the passing hours and years 
 as they might have appeared to Hodge himself, misty and full of 
 dim rumours, with occasional flashes of things in the doing. But 
 as it is necessarily concentrated, prevented from for ever striking 
 A before it can strike B, it is bound to be allusive and to take great 
 names for granted. The notes which follow are intended to explain 
 whatever may be difficult to the reader of average instruction, to 
 supplement the text-books, and occasionally to justify what may 
 seem a doubtful or a hard saying. Archaic words or phrases will also 
 be expounded. 
 
 Prelude, line 50. The lines in italics are part of an old song, 
 of which the whole will be found in Ancient English Christmas 
 Carols, collected by Edith Rickert. She dates it as " before 
 1536," which, to say the least, it undoubtedly is. I myself 
 believe it to be fifteenth century. 
 
 Id, 1. 88. The ivarp is land formed by the silt of a river : here, the 
 sand or mud which is raked up to dam water-courses and flood 
 the meadows. See Wright, English Dialect Dictionary, s.v. 
 
 ld.\.\\\. A borstal 1% a sunk grass-road leading from the chalk- 
 down to the plain ; supposed to be an ancient cattle-way, and 
 possibly neolithic in origin. 
 
 ld.\. 123. Great Christopher. The image of this holy giant was 
 usually depicted on the north wall of the church, so that it 
 might be the first thing seen on entrance. Saint Christopher 
 was prophylactic against accident. Several fre-sroes of him 
 remain in country churches. 
 
 225 Q
 
 NOTES 
 
 Id. 1. 205. Saint TJse. Use-and-Wont, or Custom, has been the 
 Englishman's fortress against tyranny or aggression from the 
 beginning, and still is. If any man doubt it, let him try to 
 stop up a footpath in his parish. 
 
 Id. 1. 259. Theozvs — slaves. 
 
 Book I. line 5. Never a one 
 
 Oj English blood . . . 
 Perhaps there is an exception. Queen Elizabeth was as nearly 
 British as might be. Her father had British blood in him, 
 and her mother, though probably of Norman or Picard origin, 
 may have had some too. 
 
 I, 1. 39. Dives-on-Sea. At this little town, in the mouth of the Dive 
 river, the Conqueror's fleet was collected, and here it was held 
 up by wind and weather in August 1066 (Freeman, III. 386). 
 
 I. 1. 46. Thefyrd was the militia of the shires, service with which 
 was obligatory on all landholders. 
 
 I. 1. 47. The hoar apple-tree. " Then came William Count ot 
 Normandy to Pevensey on St. Michael's-mass-eve ; and 
 immediately after they were ready, they constructed a castle 
 at the town of Hastings. This was then made known to King 
 Harold, and he gathered a great army, and came to meet 
 him at the hoar apple-tree " {Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, Rolls 
 Series, II. 167). 
 
 I. 1. 61 . The Dragon. This was the flag of Wessex, used as a royal 
 standard by Harold at Senlac. 
 
 I. 1. 135. Fill is a synonym for "manor." It is a Norman word, 
 and every other place-name in Normandy to this day ends in it. 
 Some authorities trace it back to the Roman villa, which they 
 believe to have been the origin of the feudal manor. Seebohm 
 and VinogradofF, to name no others, discuss this hypothesis. 
 According to old English law the term vUl implied and con- 
 noted a manor. See that discussed at length in Pollock and 
 Maitland, History of English Law, I. 594 sqq. 
 
 I. 1. 136. Stoke-Farden. There is a place called Stoke-Farthing in 
 South Wilts. It had been Stoke in English, was Stoke- Verdun 
 after the Conquest ; then Stoke-Farden, phonetically ; thence 
 Stoke-Farthing, wiseacrcishly. 
 
 226
 
 NOTES 
 
 I. 1. 141. Boro\ This was the English burh, still extant as btaj^ 
 another connotation of the Latin manor and Norman vill. 
 
 I. 1. 154. Bovate. I cannot summarize all the learning on the 
 exact equivalent of this and other quantitative terms. Almost 
 certainly the bovate, virgate, ox-gang, plow-land, and all the 
 rest of them, varied from shire to shire. VinogradofF, Pollock, 
 Maltland, and other jurists discuss them up and down. 
 
 I. 1. 181. Boone or boon-work was work which the lord could 
 require of his tenants. A sort of rent in kind. It varied in 
 intensity with the nature of the holding ; it was never formally 
 abolished. So late as the time of James I. it was due here and 
 there, and may linger even now where unenfranchised copyhold 
 or customary freehold exists. 
 
 I. 1. 220. CromweWs rod and Hitch's hurt. Cromwell, on the loth 
 January 1643, wrote to "the Reverend Mr. Hitch, at Ely," 
 thus : " Mr. Hitch, lest the soldiers should In any tumultuary 
 or disorderly way attempt the reformation of the Cathedral 
 Church, I require you to forbear altogether your choir-service, so 
 unedifying and offensive — and this as you shall answer it, if any 
 disorder should arise thereupon "... and more to that effect. 
 Carlyle adds, " Mr. Hitch paid no attention, persisted in his 
 choir-service : whereupon enter the Governor of Ely with 
 soldiers . . . With a rabble at his heels, with his hat on, he 
 walks up to the choir ; says audibly, ' I am a man und r 
 authority, and am commanded to dismiss this assembly.' . . . 
 Mr. Hitch has paused for a moment, but seeing Oliver draw 
 
 back, he starts again ; * As it was in the beginning ! ' 
 
 ' Leave off your fooling, and come down. Sir,' said Oliver, in 
 a voice still audible to this editor ; which Mr. Hitch did now 
 instantaneously give ear to. And so with his whole congrega- 
 tion files out, and vanishes from the field of History " (Carlyle, 
 Letters and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell, I. 179). 
 
 L 1. 226. The empty leagues where Sar urn's keep, 
 
 Islanded lonely in the grass. 
 Watches the shepherd and the sheep 
 Behold him now . . . 
 That was in August 1086. "The completion of the Record 
 (Domesday Book), and the great meeting at Sarum of all 
 
 227 Q 2
 
 NOTES 
 
 the landowners in the kingdom, so completely synchronize, 
 and the two are so commonly joined together by almost all 
 the historians of the times, that it is difficult not to believe 
 them to have had an immediate relation to each other " 
 {Domesday for Wiltshire, by W. H. Jones, p. xiv. See Freeman 
 upon the same matter, IV. 691). 
 I. 1. 302. In the strips. The common-field system of tillage divided 
 up the arable land of the manor into long, narrow strips, so 
 many furrows of the plow. Occupancy of these shifted from 
 year to year : a primitive way of securing rotation of crops 
 which lasted until the end of the eighteenth century. See- 
 . bohm's English Village Community gives the best account of this 
 husbandry. 
 
 I. 1. 305. Villein and neif. The villein was ''the villanus, or bond- 
 
 tenant of the manor. iV^//"is the vernacular form of naiiva, 
 itself the feminine of nativus, the man glebae ascriptiis. 
 
 Book II. line 28. The five rivers: Avon, Wylye, Nadder, Bourne, 
 Ebble. 
 
 II. 1. 54. Telm. Straw laid out in bundles for thatching. 
 
 II. 1. (i(>. Scutage. " Next he sought to curb the barons. He 
 instituted Scutage, by which the great feudatories granted a 
 money payment instead of bringing with them to the army 
 hordes of sub-tenants who might obey them rather than the 
 king ; this enabled the king to hire mercenaries, who respected 
 him but not the feudatories " (Pollard, History of England, p. 46). 
 That is the gist of it; but see it at length in Stubbs, Miss Norgate, 
 and elsewhere. I take this opportunity of acknowledging my 
 indebtedness to Professor Pollard's masterly and comprehensive 
 essay . 
 
 II. 1. 129. Ikenai. Little or nothing is known ot this girl except 
 that she was mother of King Henry's son Geoffrey, Archbishop 
 of York. Her name is recorded by Walter Map, De Nugis, 
 V. 6. She has no other name in history, which seems to show 
 that she was of the common people. The tale as I give it is, 
 of course, purely imaginary, though the fact that she was the 
 King's mistress may be accepted. 
 
 II. 1. 150. A man of his fathers mind. Geoffrey, Archbishop of York. 
 
 228
 
 NOTES 
 
 II. 1. 1 88. Charter of Liberties. Magna Carta, as Professor Pollard 
 
 neatly says, was " invented by Chief Justice Coke." The Pro- 
 fessor insists, very properly, " rather upon its reactionary than 
 its reforming elements." It was, in fact, as he says, a charter 
 of *' Liberties," and not of liberty. Upon this important point 
 he is terse and direct {pp. cit. pp. 53 sqq^. 
 
 Book III. line 70. Drudge and drodge. I owe both rime and fact to 
 Miss E . M. Wright's Rustic Speech and Folklore (p. 1 9), a valuable 
 and delightful book. It is proper to say, however, that my 
 distinction can only be inferred from her. 
 
 III. 1. 84. Bitter brew : beer, to wit. The first Franciscans, 
 coming from Italy, had no stomach for our staple. They put 
 water to it, to make it thinner, and drank it hot (" De Adventu 
 Minorum " in Monumenta Franciscana, I. 7). 
 
 III. 1. 188. The great gray church: Westminster. 
 
 III. 1. 194. Gai saber : the art of the Trobadors of Provence and 
 thereabouts. The Court of Henry III was crowded with 
 Southern French. 
 
 III. 1. 200. Grosseteste. '^ Humili de patre et matre sum natus,^' he 
 is reported to have said of himself. A good life of him in the 
 Dictionary and several useful accounts in the Prefaces to the 
 Lancrcost Chronicle., Monumenta Franciscana, and his own Letters, 
 in the Rolls Series. 
 
 III. 1. 221. His best zvork zvithin his land. I believe that I owe 
 
 the aphorism contained in this and the next line to Professor 
 Pollard, but can't find it, though I have hunted it up and down 
 his works. It is as obvious as it is usually ignored. 
 
 Book IV. line 2 i . Loteby : " a private companion or bedfellow," 
 says Halliwell ; " a concubine." The parson's loteby in the 
 fourteenth century had better status than is allowed by that 
 definition. She was his unoificial wife, what the Russians call 
 his civil wife. Practice made the breach of vow a technical 
 offence, as it still does in more than one Catholic country. 
 
 IV. 1. 26. Berkeley's keep : Berkeley Castle, where Edward II. was 
 
 murdered. 
 IV. 1. 96. Ckevisance. Cotgrave has, " An agreement or composition 
 
 229
 
 NOTES 
 
 made ; an end or order set down between a creditor and a 
 debtor." It derives from the old French word chev'ir, to 
 compound, to come to an agreement with a person. 
 
 IV. 1. 98. To rob a ladfs knee: when he took Lady Salisbury's 
 garter, 
 
 IV. 1. 99. A whore : Alice Ferrers. 
 
 IV. 1. 104. Canon ofChimay : Froissart. 
 
 IV. 1. 1 20. Botes. These were the local needs which tenants, 
 by custom, were allowed to supply to themselves off the land, 
 chiefly ofF the woodland. There were hedge-bote, plow-bote, 
 fire-bote, cart-bote, etc. 
 
 IV. 1. 123. Jehan le Bel: the Flemish chronicler who preceded 
 Froissart, and upon whom the greater man founded himself. 
 " Venerable homme et discret seigneur Monselgneur Jehan le Bel, 
 chanoine de Saitjt-Lambert de Liege," his pupil calls him. His 
 Vrayes Chroniques begin in 1326 and end in 1361. 
 
 IV. 1. 144. Routiers : soldiers on hire, who lived chiefly by pillage. 
 
 IV. 1. 154. Garterdom : "The period of the Black Death was 
 precisely the time when Edward completed a plan which he 
 had begun by the erection of his Round Table at Windsor in 
 1344. In 1348 he instituted a chapel at Windsor, dedicated 
 to St. George. . . . Within a year this foundation also included 
 the famous Order of the Garter. On St. George's Day the 
 King celebrated the new institution by special solemnities" 
 {Political History of England, III, 380). The Black Death had 
 begun in 1348. 
 
 IV. 1. 177. Weals she has carried ever since. Dr. Jessopp in his 
 Coming of the Friars (art. " Black Death "), and Thorold Rogers 
 in Work and Wages, deal with the permanent effects of the 
 Black Death upon the peasantry. See herein 11. 286 sqq. 
 
 IV. 1. 273. Pied : the Dominican friars were sometimes so called, 
 whose habit was black-and-white. 
 
 IV. 1, 388. Winking Rood: at Boxley, in Kent. 
 
 Book V. line 4. His minion : Alice Ferrers. 
 
 V. 1. 36. The Miller, John Ball. Of these and other heroes of the 
 
 Peasants' Revolt the best account by far is that of G. M. Tre- 
 velyan in England in the Age of Wyclife, with its accompanying 
 
 230
 
 NOTES 
 
 volume of Documents. There are others, one, notably, by 
 Professor Oman ; but Mr. Trevelyan's is the best. 
 V. 1. 123. Souse: bacon salted and soaked. 
 
 V. 1. 137. GoUardise : gluttony and revelling of sorts. As to the 
 gpliardi, sung by Walter Map in the well-know^n Mihi est 
 propositutn, the reader will find a good account in Wright's 
 edition of the poet, done for the Camden Society. 
 V. 1. 165. John Sckep : another hero of the Revolt. 
 V. 1. 178. Plepoivder. The Court of Pied-poudre was one of 
 summary jurisdiction held by charter within the market or fair 
 for offences committed against the peace, or the market franchise. 
 
 V. 1. 181. Canterbury. Archbishop Sudbury was particularly ob- 
 noxious to the Rebels. As Chancellor he was held responsible 
 for the Poll Tax, as Archbishop he had imprisoned John Ball. 
 He was a friend, also, of John of Gaunt. All these things 
 were heavily against him. 
 
 V. 11. 184, 185, 187. Wejhill, St. Frideszvide, St. Giles: famous 
 fairs, all three of them. It was at fairs and markets that news 
 between county and county mainly passed. 
 
 V. 1. 226. Bampton, Commissioner : sec his deeds in Trevelyan, op. cit. 
 pp. 207-8. 
 
 V. 1. 230. Trailbaston . There is a vast amount of lore connected 
 with the Commission and Court of Trailbaston, fairly collected 
 by old Cowell in his Interpreter under the heading " Justices of 
 Trailbaston." It was an extraordinary and summary jurisdiction, 
 founded by Edward I., a sort of irregular assize, which pro- 
 ceeded upon a special commission. The baston was no doubt a 
 staff of office. " My lord " in the text was Sir John Cavendish, 
 Chief Justice of the King's Bench. He was sent down into 
 Essex to restore order, armed with his commission (Trevelyan, 
 pp. 208 sqq^. 
 
 V. 1. 256. The Wearer oj the Ring: Sudbury, Archbishop of 
 Canterbury. 
 
 V. 1. 304. John the Miller. See this song, which I have tinkered a 
 little, in Trevelyan. 
 
 V. 1. 330. Legge. John Legge was collector of the Poll Tax. Read 
 of him in Trevelyan. 
 
 V. 1. 334. Hales. Robert Hales was Treasurer. 
 
 231
 
 NOTES 
 
 Book VI. line 55. Holland . . . Warwick . . . Tiptoft . . . Suffolk. 
 Holland v/as Henry Duke of Exeter ; Warwick was Nevill the 
 Kingmaker ; Tiptoft was Earl of Worcester, the first italianate 
 Englishman on record ; Suffolk was Delapole, the Jack Nape 
 of popular execration. The text-books deal fairly by them all ; 
 the best, I think, is Sir James Ramsay's Lancaster and York. 
 
 VI. 1. 57. Merchant of his age : Edward IV., a great woolmonger. 
 
 VI. 1. 65. The fat and smooth and white: The adjectives are Sir 
 Thomas More's, in his Life of King Edzvard the Fifth, a beautiful 
 tract. 
 
 VI. 1. 85. Jack Mend-all : Jack Cade, treated too lightly by all 
 historians except Sir James Ramsay in Lancaster and York. 
 
 VI. 1. 99. The long-leggd king : Edward I., virtual founder ot 
 Parliament as we know it. 
 
 VI. 1. 142, While Nene ran full: the battle of Northampton, 
 July 10, 1460. 
 
 VI. 1. 161. 'The DeviPs Water: the battle of Hexham, May 15, 
 1464. The Devil's Water is a stream, on the banks of which, 
 in a meadow called The Linnels, the battle was fought. 
 
 VI. 1. 163. Renews haggard daughter : Margaret of Anjou. 
 
 VI. 1. 167. Another Spring; the battle of Barnet, April 14, 1471. 
 
 VI. 1. 176. The Black Snake of Anjou : Fulk of that family, fabled to 
 
 be the fruit of devil's intercourse. 
 
 Book VII. line 33. Radmore Plain. The battle of Bosworth was 
 fought out here, a good way south of Market Bosworth, on 
 August 22, 1485. 
 
 VII. 1. 46. Little of Gaunt. Henry VII. 's title to the throne, such 
 as it was, depended upon the legitimization of John of Gaunt's 
 children by Catherine Swynford, and even so was a female 
 descent. He bettered it by marrying Edward IV.'s daughter 
 Elizabeth. As Professor Pollard points out {Reign of Henry FIl., 
 1. xvii.), the marriage was "as essential to his position as was 
 William III.'s with Mary II. to his." 
 
 VII. 1. 57. Others^ lust. It is sufficient to mention the still rank- 
 smelling names of Empson and Dudley. 
 
 VII. 1. 92. Champion land: open land, held by the tenants in common 
 and shifting ownership. The word is common in Tusser. 
 
 232
 
 NOTES 
 
 VII. 1. 133. Gresham and Paget . . .: names, taken as they come, 
 of great families which had their rise in the wreck of feudalism. 
 The Wars of the Roses destroyed the Norman aristocracy, but 
 the new men out-Nornianned it. The end of the hard-held 
 privileges of tenants " by the custom of the manor " and the 
 beginning of the despot-landlords of the i8th and 19th cen- 
 turies coincide. 
 
 VII. 1. 138. Grosvenor is rich ; an allusion to the old Scrope and 
 Grosvenor controversy of the 14th century, when Grosvenor 
 was a respectable name, but no more. In this century he gained 
 the garb in more senses than one. 
 
 VII. 1. 200. And pack a Parliament : "The Parliament which met 
 on November 3, 1529, was destined to carry out a series of 
 changes more profound and wide-reaching than any which had 
 yet been accomplished in the annals of English legislation. In 
 the seven years of its existence it snapped the bonds which 
 bound England to Rome, and established the royal supremacy 
 over the English Church" {Political History of England, V. 291). 
 As to " packing," " A letter from Gardiner to Wolsey proves 
 that Henry was interested in the choice of candidates for the 
 shires of Nottingham and Derby, Bedford and Buckingham, 
 and the town of Southampton. The King wrote with his own 
 hand to the borough of Colchester, requesting the corporation 
 to return a candidate whom he had nominated ; and Richard 
 Hall, the biographer of Bishop Fisher, states that every writ 
 was accompanied by a private letter from one or other of the 
 King's Council, directing the choice of the electors. That the 
 majority of the House consisted of Crown officials is admitted 
 by the most protestant of contemporary chroniclers" {ibid.). 
 
 VII. 1. 215. Ttvo crosses: that of York, and that of Cardinal-Legate. 
 
 VII. 1. 244. For when you put your broad lands out., The practice 
 of farming out the lands of the monasteries was general at the 
 time of the Dissolution, and in every way disastrous. 
 
 VII. 1. 256. ^zvay with Gracedieu : The Cistercians in particular 
 had beautiful names for their convents. 
 
 VII. 1. 285. ^hat they anon could sack the King. This is where the 
 whirligig of time brought one of his revenges. Out of the 
 spoils of the monasteries the Crown raised up a new class of
 
 NOTES 
 
 landlords, the squires as we know them. That class it was 
 which in 1649 brought down the Crown. 
 
 VII. 1. 293. His Polar Star : Niccolo Macchiavelli, the Florentine, 
 whose handbook of despotry. The Prince, was, and still is, fatal 
 reading for politicians. 
 
 VII, 1. 304. Struck sideways at the Firgiti-M other : when he spoiled 
 the shrines and broke up the images. It may have been 
 forced upon him by the logic of events ; it may have pleased 
 the Genevan faction ; it may have been judged necessary to 
 salvation. But it is a hard matter to secure your own salvation 
 at the cost of a people's gods. So far as may be I have satisfied 
 myself that the English peasantry went without a working 
 religion for two hundred years — that is, from the time when 
 King and Parliament had obliterated Catholicism to the time 
 of John Wesley. 
 
 VII. 1. 310. Curch : a woman's head-dress. 
 
 VII. 1. 317. One was gaunt : Mary. 
 
 VII. 1. 321. And left dry sticks, for fools to plant. Elizabeth was the 
 complete despot, fruges consumere nata. What she left over were 
 the sapless rudiments of despotry, from which the Stuarts reaped 
 their barren harvest. 
 
 VII. 1. 330. He laid hands on the coin in mint. Henry's debasing ot 
 the coinage was his last robbery, unless the suppression of the 
 Guilds can be scored against him. See Thorold Rogers {Work 
 and Wages') upon the coinage question. 
 
 VII, 1. 335. The badge : Fidei Defensor. 
 
 VII. 1, 338. 'Nay, if like man the Master is . . . The conclusion of 
 this and the following line is involved in the renunciation of 
 his faith. He claimed to be God's anointed, but if he rejected 
 the God by whom he was anointed the anointing would go 
 with the rejection. The reasoning was popular if unsound. 
 It was sound enough, at any rate, to settle the Stuart pretensions. 
 
 VII. 1. 342. The Estate : the Commons' estate, as England knew it 
 until the Reform Bill. 
 
 VII. 1. 363. Triple mail: rohur et aes triplex. 
 
 VII. 1. 380. When Justices 0' the Peace . . . This is one of the 
 landmarks of the peasants' oppression. Here is Hasbach's 
 account of it: "The Act of 1562 . . . provides that any
 
 NOTES 
 
 person between the ages of ten and eighteen may become an 
 apprentice in husbandry, and when so bound must serve till the 
 age of twenty-one or twenty-four. The wages of servants and 
 day-labourers are to be assessed by the Justices of the Peace, 
 with the assistance of the Sheriff, *if he conveniently may'; and 
 it is made punishable either to give or to take higher wages. 
 No labourer is to leave the place of his abode without a certifi- 
 cate from the authorities, which he must show whenever he 
 attempts to obtain work " (Hasbach, The English Agricultural 
 Labourer, p. 41). When it is remembered that Justices were 
 inevitably landlords, the bearing of the Act becomes plain 
 enough. 
 
 VII. 1. 419. His zueed and root : his tobacco and potato. 
 
 \ II. 1. 451. Court Halimote : the old manorial court, not yet dead. 
 
 Book VIII. line 51. The men whose need is to possess you . . . The 
 landed class. A true saying from Hasbach {op. cit. p. 71) : "It 
 is among the deepest convictions of the English middle-classes 
 that the 1 6th-century struggle for the purity of religion and the 
 17th-century struggle for personal liberty are among the greatest 
 achievements of the nation. It is remarkable that the lower 
 classes should also have accepted this conviction. The Reforma- 
 tion robbed them of the institutions which had helped them 
 in their times of need, and parliamentary government produced 
 a class domination which took their land from them, threw on 
 them a great part of the burdens entailed by trade wars and 
 colonial wars, and pitilessly abandoned them to the storm which 
 broke over them with the rise of the great industry." That is 
 so true that comment is unnecessary, even such a comment as 
 that the whole of this Poem is itself a comment upon it. 
 
 VIII. 1. 6"] . Who sought to quicken the dead with air : James II., whose 
 efforts to re-establish the Catholic Church were of that absurd 
 futility. 
 
 VIII. 1. 110. fVhen the Commons locked the door . . . March 2, 1629, 
 was the date of this significant act. It was the first stroke of 
 Civil War, first stroke at Charles's head too. 
 
 VIII. 1. 115. They made that true, not truly spoken. The words were 
 Eliot's, and were not true at the time. The Civil War made
 
 NOTES 
 
 them true, and so they have finally remained, in spite of 
 George III., who broke some Parliaments without being broken 
 up himself. 
 
 VIII. 1. 133. He was estranged. Nothing is more remarkable than 
 the obliteration of the peasant in this time of anarchy. The 
 best account known to me of the state of the countryside during 
 the Civil War — and even there it is implied rather than ex- 
 pressed — is in the Verney Memoirs, of which there are four 
 volumes in print. I wish there were four dozen — as I believe 
 there might be. 
 
 VIII. 1. 159. Dom Galfrid : a hint at the old days, in the memorial 
 brass of a bygone rector. 
 
 VIII. 1. 184. In England now siir^d up a force : I mean the Middle 
 Class, sown in the towns, and now emerging as the power in the 
 state which was to become the predominant power in 1832. 
 The Middle Class, as I understand the matter, was not perfectly 
 autochthonous, nor wholly super-imposed. It had been gathered 
 from all over Europe, and was very much a residuum. Having, 
 no doubt, an English base, there drifted into it in succession 
 settling Norsemen, imported Normans, then Flemings and 
 Walloons, then Genoese (called Lombards in the fourteenth 
 century), and a liberal sprinkling of Jews, until their ex- 
 pulsion. A history of the Middle Class has yet to be written, 
 to show both its service and its disservice of the state. During 
 the two and a half centuries still before us, that class repre- 
 sented by such bodies as the Freemen of Westminster and the 
 London burgesses, was the very buttress of Liberty. The 
 Reform Act made most of them Conservatives, and the rest 
 academic Liberals of the Bright and Cobden type. They 
 have been our masters ever since. 
 
 VIII. 1. 248. The Medicean effigy : Charles II., who had this blood 
 from his mother. His portraits are startlingly like those of 
 Lorenzo the Magnificent. 
 
 VIII. 1. 256. Nozv IV e get hire and whores from France. ... By the 
 secret treaty of Dover, in 1670, Charles was to declare himself 
 a Catholic as soon as he conveniently might. " To repress 
 possible disorder among turbulent and unquiet subjects, Louis 
 was to aid his ally with 2,000,000 livres and 6000 soldiers " 
 
 236
 
 NOTES 
 
 {Po/iticnl History Oj Engknd,W\\., loi). Louis de Qu^rouaille 
 was Louis' decoy-duck ; but the principal French agent for the 
 treaty was Charles's own sister, the Duchess of Orleans. 
 
 VIIL 1. 262. BagweWs zvife. . . . Bagwell was a shipwright of 
 Deptford, and his wife one of Pepys's many light loves. Plenty 
 of her in the Diary. 
 
 V^in. 1. 292. Tied him securely to the land : by the Act 13 & 14, 
 Car. n.,c. 12. Under this Act labourers were practically con- 
 fined to their parishes, since it provided that " any newcomer, 
 within forty days of arrival, could be ejected from a parish by 
 an order from the magistrates, upon complaint from the parish 
 officer, and removed to the parish where he or she was last 
 legally settled." This was tantamount to a reduction of the 
 peasantry to the old condition of villeinage, since the only 
 provisions for exemption contained in the Act were {a) that 
 the stranger should have settled in a tenement of j^io yearly 
 value, or (J?) could give security for the discharge of the parish 
 to the magistrate's satisfaction (Hammond, The Village Labourer^ 
 pp. 1 12 Jj'f.). The preamble to this reactionary decree declares 
 its object to be the prevention of vagabondage. The real 
 object, however, depended upon a statute of 43 Elizabeth, 
 which made each parish responsible for the poor within it. 
 
 VIIL 1. 295. The village till was answerable: by Statute 43 Elizabeth 
 referred to in the preceding note. 
 
 Book IX. line 58. My^Sev ayav. "It hath been the wisdom of 
 the Church of England, ever since the first compiling of her 
 Publick Liturgy, to keep the mean between the two extremes, 
 of too much stiffness in refusing, and of too much easiness in 
 admitting, any variation from it." 
 
 IX. 1. 73. When George Fox . . . This is his widow's account of 
 the beginning of his ministry. 
 
 IX. 1. 103. And the Gray Men from oversea: The Franciscans, 
 between whose ministry and that of Wesley and his Preachers 
 the analogies are remarkable. See the book hereof called Bonaccord. 
 
 IX. 1. 118. That Pentecostal Ez'e : May 24, 1738. 
 
 IX. 1. 139. Says he . . . These are the famous Five Points which 
 mark a Methodist, 
 
 ^1>7
 
 NOTES 
 
 IX. 1. 156. So Hoage, with Christ-hve all astir. . . . There is a 
 fine account of the effects of Methodism upon a peasant in 
 Lackington's Memoirs. Although Lackington wrote his book 
 after he had become a prosperous tradesman, and scornful of 
 Methodism, he was unable to keep out some of the glow of 
 enthusiasm which his conversion wrought in him. He convinces 
 his reader in spite of himself. 
 
 IX. 1. 176. The sot in ermine : George I. 
 
 Book X. line 82. Champion- land. See note to VII. 92. 
 
 X. 1. 85. Keep watchful eye for grassy ridges. . . . They can be seen 
 
 all over England to this day. There have been several good 
 general accounts of the Common Field system of husbandry 
 since Scebohm's, to which I have referred already, although 
 that remains, I think, the best. But a very good particular 
 account of it, from which the general practice can be gathered, 
 is in Mr. Warde Fowler's Kingham, Old and New (Blackwell, 
 191 3). Kingham is manor in Oxfordshire. 
 
 X, 1. 94. The village lay, a little realm . . . This state of affairs, 
 without reactionism or archaicism, is the thing to aim at if the 
 peasant is ever to become a responsible person. Enlarge the 
 powers of the Parish Councils, restrict those of the County 
 Councils to county affairs. Give the parishes power to levy 
 a rate. Have no fear. There is no more cautious, and no 
 more democratic, body in the country than a Parish Council ; 
 for nowhere else are the people's representatives so closely in 
 touch with the electorate. 
 
 X. 1. 170. The plan found good . . . For a savage, but not at all 
 too savage, account of the working of Enclosure Acts consult 
 Hammond, The Village Labourer. Hasbach, The English Agri- 
 cultural Labourer, is to the same effect ; but he is very dull 
 reading. 
 
 X. 1. 214. His Grace the Duke . . . Here is a short list of parks, 
 with their acreages: Arundel, 12 16 acres; Hatfield, with 
 Millwards, 1389 acres; Clumber, 3776 acres; Welbeck, with 
 woods, 4224 acres ; Longleat, with woods, 3777 acres ; Stowc, 
 1400 acres; Wentworth Woodhouse, 1600 acres; Woburn, 
 2310 acres ; Chatsworth, 2368 acres, 
 
 238
 
 NOTES 
 
 X. 1, 266. Speenhnmlond ... a parish in Berkshire, now part of 
 Newbury, where on May 6, 1795, the Berkshire magistrates 
 met and " there resolved on a momentous policy which was 
 gradually adopted in almost every part of England " (Ham- 
 mond, op. cit. 161). The policy, which was charitably meant, 
 was for the relief of the poor, and recommended that labourers' 
 wages should be in proportion to the current price of corn ; 
 the principle being that every man must have the equivalent 
 of three gallon loaves of bread a week, his wife and each child 
 one and a half. The effect of this disastrous proposal was, 
 within a very few years, to pauperize the whole of the English 
 peasantry already robbed of all their holding in the land. The 
 subject is freely treated in Hammond and Hasbach {op. cit.). 
 
 X. 1. 295. For where else in the world d^you Jind . . . The only 
 
 answer is that of the text : Nowhere. 
 
 Book XI. line 6. Where the Zadorra : the river on whose plain was 
 fought the decisive battle of Vittoria, June 21, 1813. 
 
 XI. 1. 26. A gibbet-shape : at Winchester Assizes, when the rick- 
 
 burners were tried and condemned in 1830. 
 
 XI. 1. 80. Which grip'd the Robber's heart in ice : Moscow to the 
 Beresina. 
 
 XI. 1. 95. And they stood firm: at Waterloo. 
 
 XI. 1. 112. The Doctor : Lord Sidmouth. 
 
 XI. 1. 122. A rogue . . . : George IV., if ever there was one. 
 Of this supreme rip it is instructive to remark what Christopher 
 North thought fit to print in Blackwood in 1827 : '■'■'North. 
 For his Majesty King George the Fourth, James, would I lay 
 down my life. A better — a nobler king — never sat on the 
 British throne. Shepherd. Deevil the ane." {Noct. Ambros. I. 
 
 382.) 
 
 XI. 1. 131. The Beau, the Poodle . . . Beau Brummel, Poodle Byng. 
 
 XI. 1. 133. Holland House: this, Bowood, and Woburn were all 
 Whig houses. 
 
 XI. 1. 151. By hanging stragglers. In 18 10 Romilly introduced and 
 carried a Bill in the House of Commons, abolishing the death 
 penalty for the crimes of stealing privately to the amount of five 
 shillings in a shop. It was rejected by the House of Lords,
 
 NOTES 
 
 by a majority which included the Archbishop of Canterbury 
 and six bishops. It was again rejected in 1813, five bishops in 
 the majority. {Hammond, p. 204.) 
 
 XI. 1. 167. The passing of the Age of Bronze: in his poem of that 
 name, his last. 
 
 XI. 1. 179. Speenkamiond : supra, X. 266. As to the rick-burnings, 
 one of the best accounts is in Hammond. For the working 
 of the Speenhamland proposals in 1822 let the reader consult 
 Cobbett's Political Register for September of that year, where the 
 Hampshire scale of allowances for the poor are set out at length. 
 As Cobbett says in comment, such treatment was not " tying up 
 one hand" but "sewing up the mouth." 
 
 XI. 1. 204. The Reverend Mr. Hare . . . This is Augustus Hare, 
 a gentle prig, of whose troubles in Wilts during the rick- 
 burnings we may read in Memorials of a Quiet Life. 
 
 XI. 1. 217. Down goes his Grace . . . The Duke of Wellington, 
 as Lord Lieutenant of Hampshire, sat on the Bench during the 
 Bloody Assize at Winchester. " When the special commission 
 had finished its labours at Winchester, loi peasants had been 
 capitally convicted : of these six were left for execution. 
 The remaining 95 were, with few exceptions, transported for 
 life. . . . Not a single life had been taken by the rioters, 
 not a single person wounded" {Hammond, p. 288). In the 
 event there was such an outcry that only two were hanged 
 at Winton ; but all the prisoners were compelled to witness 
 the executions. 
 
 XI. 1. 239. Who sees our Three Estates so just ... "I have 
 never read or heard of any measure up to the present moment 
 which can in any degree satisfy my mind that the state of the 
 representation can be improved, or rendered more satisfactory 
 than at the present moment. I am fully convinced that the 
 country already possesses a legislature which answers all the 
 purposes of good legislation " . . . i^h.e.Dukt's Speech on Reform, 
 Nov. 2, 1830). 
 
 XI. 1. 256. Foul spawn of that self-lover . . . The self-lover was 
 Charles I., his spawn was Charles II., foul enough ; in whose 
 reign it was that most of the rotten boroughs, Cornish group 
 and what-not, were created. 
 
 240
 
 NOTES 
 
 XI. 1. 262. Tvgetker tvorkt to one end — Rent! 
 
 " Safe in their barns, these Sabine tillers sent 
 Their brethren out to battle. Why ? For rent ! " 
 
 Tfie ^ge of Bronze, XIV. 618. 
 XI. 1. 312. j4 turn of wheat bread for his meal . , . : when Peel 
 broke down the Corn Law. 
 
 XI. I. 317. IVhi/e rise the Union's iron walls: The first work of 
 
 the reformed Parliament was to break the old Poor Law. Out- 
 door relief, as established by the Speenhamland decree, was 
 abolished, and with it went the attendant evils of pauperizing 
 and sweating the poor in favour of the ratepayers. But to 
 abolish outdoor relief and put nothing in its place but the 
 workhouse was certainly a " comment grim." 
 
 Book XII. line 72. He had the House instead of the Dole : see preceding 
 note. 
 
 XII. 1. 89. The house is tied : when the cottage is tied to the farm 
 and the tenant's occupancy is reckoned a part of his wages. 
 Then the rule is. Out of work out of doors. 
 
 XII. 1. 94. Now is the hour of rail and steam. I have put a middle 
 date to this momentous hour. Railway operations began on an 
 extended scale about 1836 and continued till 1844, when there 
 was a sharp decline. 
 
 XII. 1. 133. There mote he learn ... I use the optative to indicate 
 that he might have learned the discipline of the Trades Union, 
 though in fact he never did. 
 
 XII. 1. 135. IVhile Honour has her bosomful. . . . There is much 
 that is shameful sticking to the name of Trade Union — pressure 
 upon non-union men and the like. But the most shameful 
 thing of all is that the whole weight of the association is turned 
 to the protection of bad, slow and idle workmen. 
 
 XII. 1. 221. That should he catch the Whigs a-bathing: when he 
 "dished'' them with his Reform Bill of 1867. 
 
 XII. 1. 257. And peasants dwindle . . . Some tables from the Board 
 of Agriculture in my possession show that in 1851 the number 
 of " persons employed in agriculture in England and Wales " 
 was 1,513,778 ; in 1901, 921,424. 
 
 XII. 1. 262. Alas! good Queen . . . "She announced the 
 
 241
 
 NOTES 
 
 Exhibition [of 185 l] as the greatest triumph of Peace which 
 the world had ever seen " (Martin, Prince Consort, II. 405, cited 
 in Political History, XII. 92 ».). 
 
 XII. 1. 299. He: The German Emperor, symbolizing, as his 
 business is, his countrymen's original blunder. 
 
 XII. I. 307. Hodge and Hodge's lord ... I have put the covering 
 dates of these conclusive Acts in the margin : 1872 was the 
 Ballot Act; 1883 the Franchise Act which made Hodge a 
 citizen. This last work of justice and honour was, I believe, 
 W. E. Forster's doing, not W. E. Gladstone's. 
 
 XII. 1. 329. To grant land-holding by an Act . . . This is quite 
 true. In 1906, when the Small Holdings cry ruled the elec- 
 tion, the administration ot it was given over to the County 
 Councils, a squirearchy. In a county known to me a great 
 man, a forty-thousand acre man, was chosen on the County 
 Council — and afterwards had two compulsory sales forced upon 
 him under the Small Holdings Act. His agent was responsible, 
 no doubt ; but it was done under his nose. 
 
 XII. 1. 334. The village-mote' s desire: oblique reference to the Parish 
 Council, which by the law of its being can only operate through 
 the Rural District Council (farmers and small tradesmen) or the 
 County Council (squires). 
 
 XII. 1. 384. Thanks to the length of Forster's arm: W. E. Forster 
 again, who drove the Education Act through, 1 870-1. 
 
 XII. 1. 385. Out then, ye Dungflies ... see Book VI. for the fore- 
 shadowing of this infernal scourge of our times, made inevitable 
 by the copulation of original sin and the Printing Press. 
 
 XII. 1. 442. Face you the Angel with the brand: Justice. 
 
 XII, 1. 446. Escheat . . . : that is escheat which falls back to the 
 lord by forfeiture or default of heir. 
 
 Envoy, line 19. Tou faced the daze n : when he received the Franchise 
 in 1883. By 191 3 the first faint glimmerings of sunrise were 
 discernible. Mr. Lloyd George's bid for the agricultural vote 
 in the autumn of that year was one sign. 
 
 Id. 1. 26. Where first you saw him : in the Prelude to this work. 
 
 Id. 1 . 60. The mighty have opprest the weak . . . Here, dramati- 
 cally, is the causa belli as far as our people, apart from their 
 
 242
 
 NOTES 
 
 governors, arc concerned. They knew little of German pre- 
 tensions, nothing of Austrian entanglements, nor did they fear, 
 nor do they believe in, foreign hostile invasion. The attack on 
 Belgian liberty moved them as they have never been moved 
 before, and the knowledge gained afterwards of German bestial 
 frenzy only intensified their purpose. For freedom they have 
 always been willing to fight, and for it have been fighting their 
 masters for a thousand years. But this is the first time that, 
 as a race, they have risen, practically en masse, for the Idea of 
 Freedom, as it has revealed itself in the noble Belgian nation, 
 its protomartyr. 
 
 Id.\. 115. The bar of Spain . . . : the Pyrenees, where the Saracen 
 invasion was arrested. 
 
 Id.\. 179. The forest on the ridge : Savernake. 
 
 Id.\. 212. Sarunt : Old Sarum, where it is probable that the 
 old Domesday was proclaimed. See note to I. 226. 
 
 /</. 1.421. Js I decree . . . Some national resumption of land — 
 if land be not offered spontaneously — must be made if the State 
 will heed the call of honour as sharply as the Peasantry heeded 
 that of human necessity. I have not the figures, though they 
 should be known, but on a cautious estimate it seems that twenty 
 per cent, of " persons engaged in agriculture," who are of all 
 ages, both sexes, and varying degrees of qualification, volunteered 
 for active service : an astounding thing.* Even more astounding 
 is it that they should have heard and understood the call. I 
 hope, though not without qualms of doubt, that some great act 
 of national gratitude will be rendered to the working-classes of 
 Great Britain, to crown the worthiest international part Great 
 Britain has ever played. 
 
 * In round numbers, 250,000 peasants have volunteered.
 
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