I

LIKE Crusoe with the bootless gold we stand

Upon the desert verge of death, and say: "What shall avail the woes of yesterday To buy to-morrow's wisdom, in the land Whose currency is strange unto our hand? In life's small market they had served to pay

Some late-found rapture, could we but delay

Till Time hath matched our means to our demand."

But otherwise Fate wills it, for, behold, Our gathered strength of individual pain, When Time's long alchemy hath made it gold,

Dies with us - hoarded all these years in vain,

Since those that might be heir to it the mould

Renew, and coin themselves new griefs again.

II

O Death, we come full-handed to thy gate, Rich with strange burden of the mingled years,

Gains and renunciations, mirth and tears, And love's oblivion, and remembering hate, Nor know we what compulsion laid such freight

Upon our souls-and shall our hopes and fears

Buy nothing of thee, Death? Behold our

wares,

"Garn,' sez I ter Sally, 'I'm in fer 'arf an 'arf.'

Lor lumme, yer should jist o' 'eard My little Sally larf!

'O' course,' she sez, 'I likes me uip O' gin an' glarss o' beer,

But did not like ter say it out
Before the nipper 'ere.'

"The nipper 'e war n't lookin'

As we neared the Brokers' Arms;
An' in we 'ops ter get a wet,
Not dreamin' any 'arm.
But the nipper 'e were cagy,
An' followed in the rear,
An' 'cars me give me order:
"'Ere, miss, two pots o' beer.'

"An' w'en I gives me order,
I turns ter speak ter Sal,
Ter arsk if she remembered
The day she was me gal.
I felt some one a-tuggin'
An' pullin' at me back;
I looks around surprised-like,
An' sees that rascal Jack.

"Sez I, 'See 'ere, me nipper,
I wont 'ave yer 'angin' 'ere.'
Sez 'e, 'D' yer think I'm goin'?
Not me. No bally fear.
Now, then, wot 'ave yer ordered?
Sez I, 'Two 'arf an' 'arf.'

Sez 'e, Ain't mother in it?'
An'

yer should o' 'card 'im larf."