Who spy on our business and are not content To take a smooth answer,

Except with a handspike

And they say they are murdered by poor honest men!

To be drowned or be shot

Is our natural lot,

Why should we, moreover, be hanged in the

end

After all our great pains

For to dangle in chains

As though we were smugglers, not poor honest

men?

"WHEN THE GREAT ARK”

When the Great Ark, in Vigo Bay,

Rode stately through the half-manned fleet, From every ship about her way

She heard the mariners entreat

"Before we take the seas again

Let down your boats and send us men!

"We have no lack of victual here

With work God knows! - enough for all, To hand and reef and watch and steer,

Because our present strength is small. While your three decks are crowded so Your crews can scarcely stand or go.

"In war, your numbers do but raise
Confusion and divided will;

In storm, the mindless deep obeys
Not multitudes but single skill;

In calm, your numbers, closely pressed,
Must breed a mutiny or pest.

"We, even on unchallenged seas,

Dare not adventure where we would, But forfeit brave advantages

For lack of men to make 'em good; Whereby, to England's double cost, Honour and profit both are lost!"

PROPHETS AT HOME

Prophets have honour all over the Earth,

Except in the village where they were born; Where such as knew them boys from birth, Nature-ally hold 'em in scorn.

When Prophets are naughty and young and vain, They make a won'erful grievance of it.

(You can see by their writings how they complain),

But O, 'tis won'erful good for the Prophet!

There's nothing Nineveh Town can give

(Nor being swallowed by whales between), Makes up for the place where a man's folk live, Which don't care nothing what he has been. He might ha' been that, or he might ha' been

this,

But they love and they hate him for what he is.

JUBAL AND TUBAL CAIN

Jubal sang of the Wrath of God
And the curse of thistle and thorn
But Tubal got him a pointed rod,
And scrabbled the earth for corn.
Old - old as that early mould,
Young as the sprouting grain
Yearly green is the strife between
Jubal and Tubal Cain!

Jubal sang of the new-found sea,
And the love that its waves divide
But Tubal hollowed a fallen tree
And passed to the further side.
Black-black as the hurricane-wrack,
Salt as the under-main

Bitter and cold is the hate they hold
Jubal and Tubal Cain!

Jubal sang of the golden years

When wars and wounds shall ceaseBut Tubal fashioned the hand-flung spears And showed his neighbours peace.