I’ve studied men from my topsy-turvy
     Close, and, I reckon, rather true. 
     Some are fine fellows:  some, right scurvy: 
     Most, a dash between the two. 
     But it’s a woman, old girl, that makes me
     Think more kindly of the race: 
     And it’s a woman, old girl, that shakes me
     When the Great Juggler I must face.

     VIII

     We two were married, due and legal: 
     Honest we’ve lived since we’ve been one. 
     Lord!  I could then jump like an eagle: 
     You danced bright as a bit o’ the sun. 
     Birds in a May-bush we were! right merry! 
     All night we kiss’d, we juggled all day. 
     Joy was the heart of Juggling Jerry! 
     Now from his old girl he’s juggled away.

     IX

     It’s past parsons to console us: 
     No, nor no doctor fetch for me: 
     I can die without my bolus;
     Two of a trade, lass, never agree! 
     Parson and Doctor!—­don’t they love rarely,
     Fighting the devil in other men’s fields! 
     Stand up yourself and match him fairly: 
     Then see how the rascal yields!

     X

     I, lass, have lived no gipsy, flaunting
     Finery while his poor helpmate grubs: 
     Coin I’ve stored, and you won’t be wanting: 
     You shan’t beg from the troughs and tubs. 
     Nobly you’ve stuck to me, though in his kitchen
     Many a Marquis would hail you Cook! 
     Palaces you could have ruled and grown rich in,
     But our old Jerry you never forsook.

     XI

     Hand up the chirper! ripe ale winks in it;
     Let’s have comfort and be at peace. 
     Once a stout draught made me light as a linnet. 
     Cheer up! the Lord must have his lease. 
     May be—­for none see in that black hollow —
     It’s just a place where we’re held in pawn,
     And, when the Great Juggler makes as to swallow,
     It’s just the sword-trick—­I ain’t quite gone!

     XII

     Yonder came smells of the gorse, so nutty,
     Gold-like and warm:  it’s the prime of May. 
     Better than mortar, brick and putty,
     Is God’s house on a blowing day. 
     Lean me more up the mound; now I feel it: 
     All the old heath-smells!  Ain’t it strange? 
     There’s the world laughing, as if to conceal it,
     But He’s by us, juggling the change.

     XIII

     I mind it well, by the sea-beach lying,
     Once—­it’s long gone—­when two gulls we beheld,
     Which, as the moon got up, were flying
     Down a big wave that sparked and swelled. 
     Crack, went a gun:  one fell:  the second
     Wheeled round him twice, and was off for new luck: 
     There in the dark her white wing beckon’d:-
     Drop me a kiss—­I’m the bird dead-struck!

     The crown of love