The Jolly Tramp

 

I am a jolly tramp: I whine to you,

Then whistles till I meet another fool.

I call the labourer sir, the boy young man,

The maid young lady, and the mother I

Will flatter through the youngest child that walks.

 

In sooth, there's no joy in a poor man's house,

Save when  the little baby walks or swears;

Still do they pity my pretended grief.

When, like that fallen oak stripped of its bark,

Showing the naked muscles of its limb

Flat on the ground - I lie with my coat off,

Hidden in deep green grass that's high enough

To miss a baby in, I pity half the world.

If it be summer time, then what care I

For naked feet, and flesh though tattered garb?

 

O foolish pride, discomfort is thy due;

That made a savage take an axe to chop

His feet that were too large to fit small shoes.

 

What though I read Few books, I can read man,

And weigh a face for what the heart is worth.

 

Far better than the fools who think they know.

So that the sun shines bright, I like to rest

All day, to let the body lie in sloth,

And make imagination do the work;

Such work is sweet, and brings no sweat or ache.

Their questions and their pity make me laugh,

But idle men can always find excuse.

Alas! I do not always laugh: for see

How fine was yester morn; the heavens clear;

Then came a golden cloud with three dark ones-

Three pirates following a peaceful barque;

The heavy rain tugged with its might for hours,

And almost pulled the heavens down to earth;

And then came torrents, and no jolly tramp

Was I, but whined in truth most pitiful.