Collected Poems Volume II Part 87

"Nay, Kemp, this is a May-day tune, A morrice of country rhymes, made by a poet Who thought it shame so worthy an act as thine Should wither in oblivion if the Muse With her Castalian showers could keep it green.

And while the fool nid-nodded all in time, Sir John, in swinging measure, trolled this tale:--

I

With Georgie Sprat, my overseer, and Thomas Slye, my tabourer, And William Bee, my courier, when dawn emblazed the skies, I met a tall young butcher as I danced by little Sudbury, Head-master o' morrice-dancers all, high headborough of hyes.

By Sudbury, by Sudbury, by little red-roofed Sudbury, He wished to dance a mile with me! I made a courtly bow: I fitted him with morrice-bells, with treble, ba.s.s and tenor bells, And "_Tickle your tabor, Tom_," I cried, "_we're going to market now_."

And rollicking down the lanes we dashed, and frolicking up the hills we clashed, And like a sail behind me flapped his great white frock a-while, Till, with a gasp, he sank and swore that he could dance with me no more; And--over the hedge a milk-maid laughed, _Not dance with him a mile_?

"You lout!" she laughed, "I'll leave my pail, and dance with him for cakes and ale!

I'll dance a mile for love," she laughed, "and win my wager, too.

Your feet are shod and mine are bare; but when could leather dance on air?

A milk-maid's feet can fall as fair and light as falling dew."

I fitted her with morrice-bells, with treble, ba.s.s and tenor bells: The fore-bells, as I linked them at her throat, how soft they sang!

Green linnets in a golden nest, they chirped and trembled on her breast, And, faint as elfin blue-bells, at her nut-brown ankles rang.

I fitted her with morrice-bells that sweetened into woodbine bells, And trembled as I hung them there and crowned her sunny brow: "Strike up," she laughed, "my summer king!" And all her bells began to ring, And "_Tickle your tabor, Tom_," I cried, "_we're going to Sherwood now_!"

When c.o.c.ks were crowing, and light was growing, and horns were blowing, and milk-pails flowing, We swam thro' waves of emerald gloom along a chestnut aisle, Then, up a s.h.i.+ning hawthorn-lane, we sailed into the sun again, Will Kemp and his companion, his companion of a mile.

"Truer than most," snarled Kemp, "but mostly lies!

And why does he forget the miry lanes By Brainford with thick woods on either side, And the deep holes, where I could find no ease But skipped up to my waist?" A crackling laugh Broke from his lips which, if he had not worn The cap and bells, would scarce have roused the mirth Of good Sir John, who roundly echoed it, Then waved his hand and said, "Nay, but he treats Your morrice in the spirit of Lucian, Will, Who thought that dancing was no mushroom growth, But sprung from the beginning of the world When Love persuaded earth, air, water, fire, And all the jarring elements to move In measure. Right to the heart of it, my lad, The song goes, though the skin mislike you so."

"Nay, an there's more of it, I'll sing it, too!

'Tis a fine tale, Sir John, I have it by heart, Although 'tis lies throughout." Up leapt Will Kemp, And crouched and swayed, and swung his bauble round, Making the measure as they trolled the tale, Chanting alternately, each answering each.

II

_The Fool_

The tabor fainted far behind us, but her feet that day They beat a rosier morrice o'er the fairy-circled green.

_Sir John_

And o'er a field of b.u.t.tercups, a field of lambs and b.u.t.tercups, We danced along a cloth of gold, a summer king and queen!

_The Fool_

And straying we went, and swaying we went, with lambkins round us playing we went; Her face uplift to drink the sun, and not for me her smile, We danced, a king and queen of May, upon a fleeting holy-day, But O, she'd won her wager, my companion of a mile!

_Sir John_

Her rosy lips they never spoke, though every rosy foot-fall broke The dust, the dust to Eden-bloom; and, past the throbbing blue, All ordered to her rhythmic feet, the stars were dancing with my sweet, And all the world a morrice-dance!

_The Fool_

She knew not; but I knew!

Love like Amphion with his lyre, made all the elements conspire To build His world of music. All in rhythmic rank and file, I saw them in their cosmic dance, catch hands across, retire, advance, For me and my companion, my companion of a mile!

_Sir John_

The little leaves on every tree, the rivers winding to the sea, The swinging tides, the wheeling winds, the rolling heavens above, Around the May-pole Igdrasil, they worked the Morrice-master's will, Persuaded into measure by the all-creative Love.

That hour I saw, from depth to height, this wildering universe unite!

The lambs of G.o.d around us and His pa.s.sion in every flower!

_The Fool_

His grandeur in the dust, His dust a blaze of blinding majesty, And all His immortality in one poor mortal hour.

And Death was but a change of key in Life the golden melody, And Time became Eternity, and Heaven a fleeting smile; For all was each and each was all, and all a wedded unity, Her heart in mine, and mine in my companion of a mile.

_Thwack_! _Thwack_! He whirled his bauble round about, "This fellow beats them all," he cried, "the worst Those others wrote was that I hopped from York To Paris with a mortar on my head.

This fellow sends me leaping through the clouds To buss the moon! The best is yet to come; Strike up, Sir John! Ha! ha! You know no more?"

Kemp leapt upon a table. "Clear the way", He cried, and with a great stamp of his foot And a wild crackling laugh, drew all to hark, "With hey and ho, through thick and thin, The hobby-horse is forgotten, But I must finish what I begin, Tho' all the roads be rotten.

"By all those twenty thousand chariots, Ben, Hear this true tale they shall! Now, let me see, Where was Will Kemp? Bussing the moon's pale mouth?

Ah, yes!" He crouched above the listening throng,-- "_Good as a play_," I heard one whispering quean,-- And, waving his bauble, shuffling with his feet In a dance that marked the time, he sank his voice As if to breathe great secrets, and so sang:--

III

At Melford town, at Melford town, at little grey-roofed Melford town, A long mile from Sudbury, upon the village green, We danced into a merry rout of country-folk that skipt about A hobby-horse, a May-pole, and a laughing white-pot queen.

They thronged about us as we stayed, and there I gave my suns.h.i.+ne maid An English crown for cakes and ale--her dancing was so true!

And "Nay," she said, "I danced my mile for love!" I answered with a smile, "'Tis but a silver token, la.s.s, 'thou'st won that wager, too."

I took my leash of morrice-bells, my treble, ba.s.s and tenor bells, They pealed like distant marriage-bells! And up came William Bee With Georgie Sprat, my overseer, and Thomas Slye, my tabourer, "Farewell," she laughed, and vanished with a Suffolk courtesie.

I leapt away to Rockland, and from Rockland on to Hingham, From Hingham on to Norwich, sirs! I hardly heard a-while The throngs that followed after, with their shouting and their laughter, For a shadow danced beside me, my companion of a mile!

At Norwich, by St. Giles his gate, I entered, and the Mayor in state, With all the rosy knights and squires for twenty miles about, With trumpets and with minstrelsy, was waiting there to welcome me; And, as I skipt into the street, the City raised a shout.

They gave me what I did not seek. I fed on roasted swans a week!

They pledged me in their malmsey, and they lined me warm with ale!

They sleeked my skin with red-deer pies, and all that runs and swims and flies; But, through the clas.h.i.+ng wine-cups, O, I heard her clanking pail.

And, rising from his crimson chair, the wors.h.i.+pful and portly Mayor Bequeathed me forty s.h.i.+llings every year that I should live, With five good angels in my hand that I might drink while I could stand!

They gave me golden angels! What I lacked they could not give.

They made Will Kemp, thenceforward, sirs, Freeman of Marchaunt Venturers!

They hoped that I would dance again from Norwich up to York; Then they asked me, all together, had I met with right May weather, And they praised my heels of feather, and my heart, my heart of cork.

As I came home by Sudbury, by little red-roofed Sudbury, I waited for my bare-foot maid, among her satin kine!

I heard a peal of wedding-bells, of treble, ba.s.s and tenor bells: "Ring well," I cried, "this bridal morn! You soon shall ring for mine!"