Selected Poems (Penguin Classics)

by Robert Browning

  There frowned Chief Justice Jukes, fumed learned Brother Small,

  And fretted their fellow Judge: like threshers, one and all,

  Of a reek with laying down the law in a furnace. Why?

  Because their lungs breathed flame – the regular crowd forbye –

  From gentry pouring in – quite a nosegay, to be sure!

  [20] How else could they pass the time, six mortal hours endure

  Till night should extinguish day, when matters might haply mend?

  Meanwhile no bad resource was – watching begin and end

  Some trial for life and death, in a brisk five minutes’ space,

  And betting which knave would ’scape, which hang, from his sort of face.

  So, their Lordships toiled and moiled, and a deal of work was done

  (I warrant) to justify the mirth of the crazy sun,

  As this and ’tother lout, struck dumb at the sudden show

  Of red robes and white wigs, boggled nor answered ‘Boh!’

  When asked why he, Tom Styles, should not – because Jack Nokes

  [30] Had stolen the horse – be hanged: for Judges must have their jokes,

  And louts must make allowance – let’s say, for some blue fly

  Which punctured a dewy scalp where the frizzles stuck awry –

  Else Tom had fleered scot-free, so nearly over and done

  Was the main of the job. Full-measure, the gentles enjoyed their fun,

  As a twenty-five were tried, rank puritans caught at prayer

  In a cow-house and laid by the heels, – have at ’em, devil may care!–

  And ten were prescribed the whip, and ten a brand on the cheek,

  And five a slit of the nose – just leaving enough to tweak.

  Well, things at jolly high-tide, amusement steeped in fire,

  [40] While noon smote fierce the roof’s red tiles to heart’s desire,

  The Court a-simmer with smoke, one ferment of oozy flesh,

  One spirituous humming musk mount-mounting until its mesh

  Entoiled all heads in a fluster, and Serjeant Postlethwayte

  – Dashing the wig oblique as he mopped his oily pate –

  Cried ‘Silence, or I grow grease! No loophole lets in air?

  Jurymen, – Guilty, Death! Gainsay me if you dare!’

  – Things at this pitch, I say, – what hubbub without the doors?

  What laughs, shrieks, hoots and yells, what rudest of uproars?

  Bounce through the barrier throng a bulk comes rolling vast!

  [50] Thumps, kicks, – no manner of use! – spite of them rolls at last

  Into the midst a ball which, bursting, brings to view

  Publican Black Ned Bratts and Tabby his big wife too:

  Both in a muck-sweat, both … were never such eyes uplift

  At the sight of yawning hell, such nostrils – snouts that sniffed

  Sulphur, such mouths a-gape ready to swallow flame!

  Horrified, hideous, frank fiend-faces! yet, all the same,

  Mixed with a certain … eh? how shall I dare style – mirth,

  The desperate grin of the guess that, could they break from earth,

  Heaven was above, and hell might rage in impotence

  [60] Below the saved, the saved!

  ‘Confound you! (no offence!)

  Out of our way, – push, wife! Yonder their Worships be!’

  Ned Bratts has reached the bar, and ‘Hey, my Lords,’ roars he,

  ‘A Jury of life and death, Judges the prime of the land,

  Constables, javelineers, – all met, if I understand,

  To decide so knotty a point as whether ’twas Jack or Joan

  Robbed the henroost, pinched the pig, hit the “King’s Arms” with a stone,

  Dropped the baby down the well, left the tithesman in the lurch,

  Or, three whole Sundays running, not once attended church!

  What a pother – do these deserve the parish-stocks or whip,

  [70] More or less brow to brand, much or little nose to snip, –

  When, in our Public, plain stand we – that’s we stand here,

  I and my Tab, brass-bold, brick-built of beef and beer,

  – Do not we, slut? Step forth and show your beauty, jade!

  Wife of my bosom – that’s the word now! What a trade

  We drove! None said us nay: nobody loved his life

  So little as wag a tongue against us, – did they, wife?

  Yet they knew us all the while, in their hearts, for what we are

  – Worst couple, rogue and quean, unhanged – search near and far!

  Eh, Tab? The pedlar, now – o’er his noggin – who warned a mate

  [80] To cut and run, nor risk his pack where its loss of weight

  Was the least to dread, – aha, how we two laughed a-good

  As, stealing round the midden, he came on where I stood

  With billet poised and raised, – you, ready with the rope, –

  Ah, but that’s past, that’s sin repented of, we hope!

  Men knew us for that same, yet safe and sound stood we!

  The lily-livered knaves knew too (I’ve balked a d—)

  Our keeping the “Pied Bull” was just a mere pretence:

  Too slow the pounds make food, drink, lodging, from out the pence!

  There’s not a stoppage to travel has chanced, this ten long year,

  [90] No break into hall or grange, no lifting of nag or steer,

  Not a single roguery, from the clipping of a purse

  To the cutting of a throat, but paid us toll. Od’s curse!

  When Gypsy Smouch made bold to cheat us of our due,

  – Eh, Tab? the Squire’s strong-box we helped the rascal to –

  I think he pulled a face, next Sessions’ swinging-time!

  He danced the jig that needs no floor, – and, here’s the prime,

  ’Twas Scroggs that houghed the mare! Ay, those were busy days!

  ‘Well, there we flourished brave, like scripture-trees called bays,

  Faring high, drinking hard, in money up to head

  [100] – Not to say, boots and shoes, when … Zounds, I nearly said –

  Lord, to unlearn one’s language! How shall we labour, wife?

  Have you, fast hold, the Book? Grasp, grip it, for your life!

  See, sirs, here’s life, salvation! Here’s – hold but out my breath –

  When did I speak so long without once swearing? ’Sdeath,

  No, nor unhelped by ale since man and boy! And yet

  All yesterday I had to keep my whistle wet

  While reading Tab this Book: book? don’t say “book” – they’re plays,

  Songs, ballads and the like: here’s no such strawy blaze,

  But sky wide ope, sun, moon, and seven stars out full-flare!

  [110] Tab, help and tell! I’m hoarse. A mug! or – no, a prayer!

  Dip for one out of the Book! Who wrote it in the Jail

  – He plied his pen unhelped by beer, sirs, I’ll be bail!

  ‘I’ve got my second wind. In trundles she – that’s Tab.

  “Why, Gammer, what’s come now, that – bobbing like a crab

  On Yule-tide bowl – your head’s a-work and both your eyes

  Break loose? Afeard, you fool? As if the dead can rise!

  Say – Bagman Dick was found last May with fuddling-cap

  Stuffed in his mouth: to choke’s a natural mishap!”

  “Gaffer, be – blessed,” cries she, “and Bagman Dick as well!

  [120] I, you, and he are damned: this Public is our hell:

  We live in fire: live coals don’t feel! – once quenched, they learn –

  Cinders do, to what dust they moulder while they burn!”

  ‘“If you don’t speak straight out,” says I – belike I swore –

  “A knobstick, well you know the taste of, shall, once more,

  Teach you to talk, my maid!” She ups with such a
face,

  Heart sunk inside me. “Well, pad on, my prate-apace!”

  ‘“I’ve been about those laces we need for … never mind!

  If henceforth they tie hands, ’tis mine they’ll have to bind.

  You know who makes them best – the Tinker in our cage,

  [130] Pulled-up for gospelling, twelve years ago: no age

  To try another trade, – yet, so he scorned to take

  Money he did not earn, he taught himself the make

  Of laces, tagged and tough – Dick Bagman found them so!

  Good customers were we! Well, last week, you must know,

  His girl, – the blind young chit, who hawks about his wares, –

  She takes it in her head to come no more – such airs

  These hussies have! Yet, since we need a stoutish lace, –

  ‘I’ll to the gaol-bird father, abuse her to his face!’

  So, first I filled a jug to give me heart, and then,

  [140] Primed to the proper pitch, I posted to their den –

  Patmore – they style their prison! I tip the turnkey, catch

  My heart up, fix my face, and fearless lift the latch –

  Both arms a-kimbo, in bounce with a good round oath

  Ready for rapping out: no ‘Lawks’ nor ‘By my troth!’

  ‘“There sat my man, the father. He looked up: what one feels

  When heart that leapt to mouth drops down again to heels!

  He raised his hand … Hast seen, when drinking out the night,

  And in, the day, earth grow another something quite

  Under the sun’s first stare? I stood a very stone.

  [150] ‘“‘Woman!’ (a fiery tear he put in every tone),

  ‘How should my child frequent your house where lust is sport,

  Violence – trade? Too true! I trust no vague report.

  Her angel’s hand, which stops the sight of sin, leaves clear

  The other gate of sense, lets outrage through the ear.

  What has she heard! – which, heard shall never be again.

  Better lack food than feast, a Dives in the – wain

  Or reign or train – of Charles!’ (His language was not ours:

  ’Tis my belief, God spoke: no tinker has such powers).

  ‘Bread, only bread they bring – my laces: if we broke

  [160] Your lump of leavened sin, the loaf’s first crumb would choke!’

  ‘“Down on my marrow-bones! Then all at once rose he:

  His brown hair burst a-spread, his eyes were suns to see:

  Up went his hands: ‘Through flesh, I reach, I read thy soul!

  So may some stricken tree look blasted, bough and bole,

  Champed by the fire-tooth, charred without, and yet, thrice-bound

  With dreriment about, within may life be found,

  A prisoned power to branch and blossom as before,

  Could but the gardener cleave the cloister, reach the core,

  Loosen the vital sap: yet where shall help be found?

  [170] Who says “How save it?” – nor “Why cumbers it the ground?”

  Woman, that tree art thou! All sloughed about with scurf,

  Thy stag-horns fright the sky, thy snake-roots sting the turf!

  Drunkenness, wantonness, theft, murder gnash and gnarl

  Thine outward, case thy soul with coating like the marle

  Satan stamps flat upon each head beneath his hoof!

  And how deliver such? The strong men keep aloof,

  Lover and friend stand far, the mocking ones pass by,

  Tophet gapes wide for prey: lost soul, despair and die!

  What then? “Look unto me and be ye saved!” saith God:

  [180] “I strike the rock, outstreats the life-stream at my rod!

  Be your sins scarlet, wool shall they seem like, – although

  As crimson red, yet turn white as the driven snow!” ’

  ‘“There, there, there! All I seem to somehow understand

  Is – that, if I reached home, ’twas through the guiding hand

  Of his blind girl which led and led me through the streets

  And out of town and up to door again. What greets

  First thing my eye, as limbs recover from their swoon?

  A book – this Book she gave at parting. ‘Father’s boon –

  The Book he wrote: it reads as if he spoke himself:

  [190] He cannot preach in bonds, so, – take it down from shelf

  When you want counsel, – think you hear his very voice!’

  ‘“Wicked dear Husband, first despair and then rejoice!

  Dear wicked Husband, waste no tick of moment more,

  Be saved like me, bald trunk! There’s greenness yet at core,

  Sap under slough! Read, read!”

  ‘Let me take breath, my lords!

  I’d like to know, are these – hers, mine, or Bunyan’s words?

  I’m ’wildered – scarce with drink, – nowise with drink alone!

  You’ll say, with heat: but heat’s no stuff to split a stone

  Like this black boulder – this flint heart of mine: the Book –

  [200] That dealt the crashing blow! Sirs, here’s the fist that shook

  His beard till Wrestler Jem howled like a just-lugged bear!

  You had brained me with a feather: at once I grew aware

  Christmas was meant for me. A burden at your back,

  Good Master Christmas? Nay, – yours was that Joseph’s sack,

  – Or whose it was, – which held the cup, – compared with mine!

  Robbery loads my loins, perjury cracks my chine,

  Adultery … nay, Tab, you pitched me as I flung!

  One word, I’ll up with fist … No, sweet spouse, hold your tongue!

  ‘I’m hasting to the end. The Book, sirs – take and read!

  [210] You have my history in a nutshell, – ay, indeed!

  It must off, my burden! See, – slack straps and into pit,

  Roll, reach the bottom, rest, rot there – a plague on it!

  For a mountain’s sure to fall and bury Bedford Town,

  “Destruction” – that’s the name, and fire shall burn it down!

  O ’scape the wrath in time! Time’s now, if not too late.

  How can I pilgrimage up to the wicket-gate?

  Next comes Despond the slough: not that I fear to pull

  Through mud, and dry my clothes at brave House Beautiful –

  But it’s late in the day, I reckon: had I left years ago

  [220] Town, wife, and children dear … Well, Christmas did, you know! –

  Soon I had met in the valley and tried my cudgel’s strength

  On the enemy horned and winged, a-straddle across its length!

  Have at his horns, thwick – thwack: they snap, see! Hoof and hoof –

  Bang, break the fetlock-bones! For love’s sake, keep aloof

  Angels! I’m man and match, – this cudgel for my flail, –

  To thresh him, hoofs and horns, bat’s wing and serpent’s tail!

  A chance gone by! But then, what else does Hopeful ding

  Into the deafest ear except – hope, hope’s the thing?

  Too late i’ the day for me to thrid the windings: but

  [230] There’s still a way to win the race by death’s short cut!

  Did Master Faithful need climb the Delightful Mounts?

  No, straight to Vanity Fair, – a fair, by all accounts,

  Such as is held outside, – lords, ladies, grand and gay, –

  Says he in the face of them, just what you hear me say.

  And the Judges brought him in guilty, and brought him out

  To die in the market-place – Saint Peter’s Green’s about

  The same thing: there they flogged, flayed, buffeted, lanced with knives,

  Pricked him with swords, – I’ll swear, he’d full a cat’s nine lives, –

  So to his end at last came Faithful, –
ha, ha, he!

  [240] Who holds the highest card? for there stands hid, you see,

  Behind the rabble-rout, a chariot, pair and all:

  He’s in, he’s off, he’s up, through clouds, at trumpet-call,

  Carried the nearest way to Heaven-gate! Odds my life –

  Has nobody a sword to spare? not even a knife?

  Then hang me, draw and quarter! Tab – do the same by her!

  O Master Worldly-Wiseman … that’s Master Interpreter,

  Take the will, not the deed! Our gibbet’s handy close:

  Forestall Last Judgement-Day! Be kindly, not morose!

  There wants no earthly judge-and-jurying: here we stand –

  [250] Sentence our guilty selves: so, hang us out of hand!

  Make haste for pity’s sake! A single moment’s loss

  Means – Satan’s lord once more: his whisper shoots across

  All singing in my heart, all praying in my brain,

  “It comes of heat and beer!” – hark how he guffaws plain!

  “Tomorrow you’ll wake bright, and, in a safe skin, hug

  Your sound selves, Tab and you, over a foaming jug!

  You’ve had such qualms before, time out of mind!” He’s right!

  Did not we kick and cuff and curse away, that night

  When home we blindly reeled and left poor humpback Joe

  [260] I’ the lurch to pay for what … somebody did, you know!

  Both of us maundered then “Lame humpback, – never more

  Will he come limping, drain his tankard at our door!

  He’ll swing, while – somebody …” Says Tab, “No, for I’ll peach!”

  “I’m for you, Tab,” cries I, “there’s rope enough for each!”

  So blubbered we, and bussed, and went to bed upon

  The grace of Tab’s good thought: by morning, all was gone!

  We laughed – “What’s life to him, a cripple of no account?”

  Oh, waves increase around – I feel them mount and mount!

  Hang us! Tomorrow brings Tom Bearward with his bears:

  [270] One new black-muzzled brute beats Sackerson, he swears:

  (Sackerson, for my money!) And, baiting o’er, the Brawl

  They lead on Turner’s Patch, – lads, lasses, up tails all, –

  I’m i’ the thick o’ the throng! That means the Iron Cage,

  – Means the Lost Man inside! Where’s hope for such as wage

  War against light? Light’s left, light’s here, I hold light still,

  So does Tab – make but haste to hang us both! You will?’

  I promise, when he stopped you might have heard a mouse