THE KING. Look not! Wait till I tell you, dearest. Air! . . "Loosed to adventure early" I go late. (Dies.) Gow. So! God hath cut off the Prince in his pleasures. Gow, to save the King, hath silenced one poor fool who knew how it befell, and, now the King's dead,' needs only that the Queen should kill Gow and all's safe for her this side o' the Judgment. . . . Senor Ferdinand, the wind's easterly. I'm for the road. FERDINAND. My horse is at the gate. God speed you. Whither? Gow. To the Duke, if the Queen does not lay hands on me before. However it goes, I charge you bear witness, Señor Ferdinand, I served the old King faithfully. To the death, Señor Ferdinand-to the death! THE WISHING-CAPS LIFE'S all getting and giving, What shall I do for a living? I've only one life to live. End it? I'll not find another. Spend it? But how shall I best? Sure the wise plan is to live like a man Give or hold at your will. Bad Luck, she is never a lady But the commonest wench on the street, Shameless to pass or meet. Walk with her once-it's a weakness! Talk to her twice-it's a crime! Thrust her away when she gives you "good day" And the besom won't board you next time. What is Your Ladyship's mood? Good Luck she is never a lady Greet her-she's hailing a stranger! Let her alone for a shrew to the bone, I'll neither follow nor flee. If I don't run after Fortune "BY THE HOOF OF THE WILD GOAT” BY THE Hoof of the Wild Goat uptossed From the cliff where she lay in the Sun Fell the Stone To the Tarn where the daylight is lost, Now the fall was ordained from the first With the Goat and the Cliff and the Tarn, But the Stone Knows only her life is accursed As she sinks from the light of the Sun Oh Thou Who has builded the World, The sin of the Stone that was hurled SONG OF THE RED WAR-BOAT (A. D. 683) SHOVE off from the wharf-edge! Steady! If she feels the lop already She'll stand on her head in the bay. For we hold that in all disaster Raging seas have we rowed in But never before such odds. The Gods know they are forsaken, We must risk the wrath of the Gods! Over the crest she flies from, Cringes and clears her eyes from The thunders bellow and clamour Close! But the blow has missed her, Heark 'ee, Thor of the Thunder! We would house at home if we might- For we hold that in all disaster- That is our way of thinking, While we try to save her from sinking, Bale her and keep her moving, Or she'll break her back in the trough. Sodden, and chafed and aching, In oars, and out with the mead- But we hold that in all disaster MINE SWEEPERS 1914-18 DAWN off the Foreland-the young flood making Jumbled and short and steep Black in the hollows and bright where it's breaking |