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Jay Leno

Here's something to think about How come you never see a headline like 'Psychic Wins Lottery'

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Jay Leno

Here's something to think about: How come you never see a headline like 'Psychic Wins Lottery'?

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The critics - how come you never see any of them on TV?

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What a state to be in
Its a world of indecision
So self destructive
And such an ugly business
In and out of fashion
You always leave your mark
An indefinite decision
A dangerous remark
** when youre cold and tired
Dont turn your head away
The distance thats between us
Gets bigger every day
* how come you never see
Youre as faraway as faraway can be
Youre as faraway as faraway can be
You try so hard to impress
You talk the telephone to death
Its what you cant see that counts
But you havent worked that out yet
There is no reason
There is no plan
The truth can be deceptive
From such a quiet man
Theres madness in your words
Not wishing to be heard
But just like yesterday
Youve already slipped away
(* repeat)
(** repeat)
(* repeat)
Youre as faraway as faraway
As faraway as faraway
As faraway as faraway
As faraway as faraway
As faraway as faraway
As faraway from me as you can be

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Never Gonna Be The Same Again

Now youre here beside me, baby,
Youre a living dream.
And every time you get this close
It makes me want to scream.
You touched me and you knew
That I was warm for you and then,
I aint never gonna be the same again.
Sorry if I hurt you, baby,
Sorry if I did.
Sorry if I touched the place
Where your secrets are hid.
But you meant more than everything
And I could not pretend.
I aint never gonna be the same again.
You give me something to think about, baby,
Every time I see ya.
Dont worry baby, I dont mind leaving,
Id just like it to be my idea.
You taught me how to love you, baby,
And you taught me, oh, so well.
Now, I cant go back to what was, baby.
I cant unring the bell.
You took my reality
And cast it to the wind
And I aint never gonna be the same again.

song performed by Bob DylanReport problemRelated quotes
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Unrelated Thing

Do you smile cause Im funny? said the man
I wasnt joking and I meant the thing I said
Not at all, not at all
Said the woman to the man
I was thinking of an unrelated thing
Unconnected and free
No relationship to anything
How come you never look me in the eye?
Arent you listening to me said the man
Not at all, not at all
Said the woman to the man
Im still thinking of an unrelated thing
Somewhere other than here
Something else besides the man
Please explain the expression on your face
Then Ill know whats beneath it said the man
No you wont, no you wont
Said the woman to the man
Ill be thinking of an unrelated thing
Ill be thinking of an unrelated thing

song performed by They Might Be GiantsReport problemRelated quotes
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Theirs thing’s I can handle
But you not being around is one of them
Day in day out I wish I was with you
We use to see each other every day
Now I’m lucky to see you once a month
If I do see you, it’s a total of maybe 5 minutes
That’s what I get
Do you really care?
You say you want to do things with me.
But why with me?
What makes me so special?
I tried and explain to you that I don’t do that.
Felt like I was talking to a wall.
How come you never want to pay attention?
For the first time in my life I had rumors about me.
It wasn’t even like they where good rumors.
Shit I wouldn’t want nothing spread around.
Especially when their not true.
It’s stuff I don’t even believe in.
But you saw more to it then just some rumor.
Random people would come and question your sexuality.
You didn’t even give a shit.
You didn’t care what people thought of you.
But me.
See I’m different.
I cared so much that it hurt me.
I want to disappear and never come back.
You could give two shits as long as you got your attention.
Every body bow down the princess is here.

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Walk Away

Youve got your mother and your brother
Every other undercover telling you what to say
You think Im stupid but the truth is that its cupid baby loving you has made me this way
So before you point your finger
Get your hand off of my trigger
You need to know the situations getting old
And now the more you talk the less I can take
Im looking for attention
Not another question
Should you stay or should you go
Well if you dont have the answer
Why you still standing here
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Just walk away
I waited here for you like a kid waiting after school
So tell me, how come you never showed
I gave you everything and never asked for anything
And look at me, Im all alone
So before you start defending baby
Stop all your pretending
I know you know I know so whats the point of being slow
Lets get this show on the road today
Im looking for attention
Not another question
Should you stay or should you go
Well if you dont have the answer
Why you still standing here
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Just walk away
I want a love
I want a fire
To feel the burn, my desires
I want a man by my side
Not a boy who runs and hides
Are you gonna fight for me, die for me
Live and breathe for me
Do you care for me
Cause if you dont then just leave
Im looking for attention
Not another question
Should you stay or should you go
Well if you dont have the answer
Why you still standing here
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Just walk away
Well if you dont have the answer
Why you still standing here
Hey, hey, hey, hey
Just walk away
walk away
walk away

song performed by Kelly ClarksonReport problemRelated quotes
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Now that youve found your paradise
This is your kingdom to command
You can go outside and polish your car
Or sit by the fire in your shangri-la
Here is your reward for working so hard
Gone are the lavatories in the back yard
Gone are the days when you dreamed of that car
You just want to sit in your shangri-la
Put on your slippers and sit by the fire
Youve reached your top and you just cant get any higher
Youre in your place and you know where you are
In your shangri-la
Sit back in your old rocking chair
You need not worry, you need not care
You cant go anywhere
Shangri-la, shangri-la, shangri-la
The little man who gets the train
Got a mortgage hanging over his head
But hes too scared to complain
cos hes conditioned that way
Time goes by and he pays off his debts
Got a tv set and a radio
For seven shillings a week
Shangri-la, shangri-la, shangri-la, shangri-la, shangri-la, shangri-la
And all the houses in the street have got a name
cos all the houses in the street they look the same
Same chimney pots, same little cars, same window panes
The neighbors call to tell you things that you should know
They say their lines, they drink their tea, and then they go
They tell your business in another shangri-la
The gas bills and the water rates, and payments on the car
Too scared to think about how insecure you are
Life aint so happy in your little shangri-la
Shangri-la, shangri-la la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la
Put on your slippers and sit by the fire
Youve reached your top and you just cant get any higher
Youre in your place and you know where you are
In your shangri-la
Sit back in your old rocking chair
You need not worry, you need not care
You cant go anywhere
Shangri-la, shangri-la, shangri-la, shangri-la, shangri-la, shangri-la

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You look into each others eyes,

And a new feeling comes over you.

You want more than a kiss.

So you slowly let them get ontop of you.

They slowly carress your body with their touch and an overwhelming passion goes through you viens as the feeling is created through you bodies.

You want them more so you slowly let every part of them feel what your like inside.

Once the feeling is gone.

You think about how lucky you are too have them.

Then the feeling of loves gets stronger and the connection between you body starts to happen again.

For you have always enjoyed their touch because you love them.

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How Things Used to Be

The older I get the more I think
About how things used to be
It’s almost like another life
That’s what it seems to me

We raised chickens every year
And I loved to gather eggs
Starting with a box of chicks
Watching them till adult stage

Creative games children played
No technology like these days
Monopoly and hide n go seek
Yes, they were sure the craze

My mom was there every single day
After school when we came home
A healthy snack and homework
We weren’t allowed to roam

The cars were so much different
And you couldn’t drive so fast
We’d have them for years and years
Like most things they would last

If you dig out old photographs
So many thoughts they bring
It sure is fun to take the time
And do a little remembering!

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There is Something about you...

What is it about you,
I just look
In adoration,
I watch in delight...

Am filled with devotion,
For the moments
By your side,
I don’t even want
To close my eyes…
I feel like a child…

Your silence
And compassion…
Your parlance
I get my salvation…

at times mischievous
sometimes solemn.
never ever

Your gentleness
And soft caress,
your smile
without guile...
Your childlike banter
And graceful movement
Your presence,
Humility and dignity
Fills me with piety…

I pray
I could stay
Forever and ever...
but life beckons

How come
You never sermonise
Or chide
Still, why do I feel
Oh yes, I do feel
Gently chastised...

Oh mother, Oh mother
A few hours
At your feet,
Or on your lap
I feel serene, joyous
And detoxified…

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Dont Talk To Strangers

When you were just a young girl and still in school
How come you never learned the golden rule
Dont talk to strange men, dont be a fool
Im hearing stories, I dont think thats cool
Why dont you tell me, someone is loving you
Cause youre my girl, some say its no longer true
Youre seeing some slick continental dude
Im begging you, please
Dont talk to strangers, baby dont you talk
Dont talk to strangers, you know hell only use you up
Dont talk, dont talk, dont talk,
Dont talk, dont talk to him
Nobody, talk, nobody, ever told you, dont talk
Now tell me, hows life in the big city
I hear the competitions tough, baby thats a pity
And every mans an actor, every girl is pretty
I dont like whats getting back to me
Now whos this, don juan Ive been hearing of
Love hurts when only ones in love
Did you fall at first sight or did you need a shove
Im begging you, please
Dont talk to strangers, baby dont you talk
Dont talk to strangers, you know hell only use you up
Dont talk, dont talk, dont talk,
Dont talk, dont talk to him
Nobody, talk, nobody ever told you, dont talk
*fais lamour avec moi (*make love to me)
Whats he saying baby
*viens dormir, mon amour (*come to sleep my love)
I asked you not to talk to him
*je taime donne moi ton coeur ce soir (*i like you to give me your heart this night)
Im begging you
Dont talk to strangers, baby dont you talk
Dont talk to strangers, you know hell only use you up
Dont talk, dont talk, dont talk,
Dont talk, dont talk to him
Nobody, talk, nobody ever told you, dont talk
Dont talk to strangers, baby dont you talk
Dont talk to strangers, you know hell only use you up
Dont talk to strangers, baby dont you,
Baby dont you talk,
Dont talk to strangers

song performed by Rick SpringfieldReport problemRelated quotes
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You and My Shadow

You never noticed how your single glance
pressed my shadow on the wall.
And by simply smiling even once,
my pressed shadow falls
and melts into the ground.
As though some unseen force from you
had taken control around.
How come you never noticed
my shadow on the wall...
pressed by some unseen force
when by my name you called.
And how it hid beneath my feet
when your shadow's close to mine!
Just when I walked ahead of you,
it's almost left behind.
And now you kiss me with your lips,
your eyes have said it all.
But dear, have you noticed
my pressed shadow on the wall?

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Karma Killer

(talking: You've been naughty...very very naughty)
Are you cut up
Or do you easily forget
Are you still around
Why haven't you managed to die yet
You could prop up the bar in hell

How do you sleep
You've never loved
Why was I never good enough
You thought you'd leave me falling forever
Karma killer

Needless to say
I guess you know I hate you
You're so full of sin
Even the devil rates you
I hope you choke
On your Bacardi and Coke

How do you breathe
Why don't you cry
How come you never ask me why
You're not a man stand and deliver
Karma killer

How do you sleep
You've never loved
Why was I never good enough
You thought you'd leave me falling forever

Karma killer
Karma killer
Karma killer
Karma killer

I hope you choke
On your Bacardi and Coke

Look what you didn't take from me
Look what you didn't take from me
Look what you didn't take from me
Look what you didn't take from me

I don't need to take revenge
Cos they're coming to get you
There's no hope for you my friend
Cos they're coming to get you

Karma killer
Karma killer
Karma killer
Karma killer
Karma killer
Karma killer

song performed by Robbie Williams from I've Been Expecting YouReport problemRelated quotes
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Little Viper

Ooh baby, baby how come you never say anything nice
Never ever satisfied
Never get enough
Little Viper
Always so damn mean to me
I just don't understand
Why do you wanna do this to your man?

You're a witch with a capital B
Girl, you're a mastermind of broken hearts
Got mine on a string
Pull, pull, pullin' it along
Feels so wrong
Feel so right
Even when you got me
Singing all night

Ooh baby, baby how come you never say anything nice
Never ever satisfied
Never get enough
Little Viper
Always so damn mean to me
I just don't understand
Why do you wanna do this to your man?

On my knees
Beggin' ya please, please
Baby please
There's only so much bad lovin' a man can take
Only so much I'm willin' to fake
Pretendin' we're still the same
The same as we were yesterday
Ooh Little Viper, no way

Ooh baby, baby how come you never say anything nice
Never ever satisfied
Never get enough
Little Viper
Always so damn mean to me
I just don't understand
Why do you wanna do this to your man?

Making my move
Gonna try to get closer
Closer to you
Give you one last chance
One last shot to save this love
Before you shove me on out
Forever outta your life

Ooh baby, baby how come you never say anything nice
Never ever satisfied
Never get enough
Little Viper
Always so damn mean to me
I just don't understand
Why do you wanna do this to your man?

Loved you like I never loved anyone else
Now I'm startin' to doubt
If we'll ever
Ever get our shh back together again
My guitar and my face lost ago lost their grin
When you started turning away from me and to the gin
Oh baby, baby, can you tell me?
Where did we go wrong, so wrong?

Ooh baby, baby how come you never say anything nice
Never ever satisfied
Never get enough
Little Viper
Always so damn mean to me
I just don't understand
Why do you wanna do this to your man?

Ooh baby, baby how come you never say anything nice
Never ever satisfied
Never get enough
Little Viper
Always so damn mean to me
I just don't understand
Why do you wanna do this to your man?

2009 Ramona Thompson

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Patrick White

Sweet One, Sapphire Lapwing

Sweet one, sapphire lapwing, killdeer, comet;
how haven’t I seen you in everything, casino stars,
the high fires on the mountain that bloom in the snow,
and the tangerine daylilies like the tents of the street lamps
watching the streaming serpents flow over their roots,
even the razorblades, paperclips and bicycle pumps
have signed your guestbook,
and the rose and the rose and the rose
I left for your poetry, on the grave of your soft eclipse.

You were so gentle about it; the way your words
slipped over and off the light, and your anger
that glowed like igneous subdued cherries, always
just a planet away from the darkness,
and the flaring emergency exits
that soaked the air with poppies:
you moved easily through yourself, kelp in a tide,
trailing your soft blue whips behind you
like the little threads of the stream where it meets the sea,
and something in you ends, and something else begins,
and you were grey and sad as an overcast Sunday morning
blue-greens of pagodas and pines,
and the mist that concealed your shrines.
And I realized I had to be water if I wanted to hear your voice,
and a few fireflies more, and I could see you alone in the haze
you wore like an ashen negligee, or a milky window.
Your life was all islands, and tulips clipped to butterflies,
Voices out of the dark, and the white birds that circled
the gaping mouths of your abandoned towers, like words
you’d left behind to remember the place.

And I recall thinking as I read
how much you drifted through your poems like a capsized boat,
and of all the life that goes on underneath the silver leaves,
and the things that take shelter there from the rain,
and who was in the boat when it overturned.
And I wonder who the woman was under the eyelids that felt
like big, heavy drops of rain where the stars
swam away from their pain, not fleeing
but moving off in easy schools of lantern fish.

You were a lens, a dark translucency,
but you washed things deliberately out of focus like fog
that veils everything in its water skin.
You marveled in shadows,
and there was a fire, a smudge of cedar
somewhere on a lonely beach with starfish,
a small bouquet you were trying to uphold in the wind,
and your life depended on that, that was the part
that couldn’t go out, and I think it was your heart.

And I heard the canary in the collapsed mines
trying to warn the miners to get out
but the warning always seemed to come too late;
And I began to wonder whether you
were coal on its way to diamond
or an ore with the moon inside
but it wasn’t until I stumbled across the smile of a knife
with your fingerprints all over the ivory handle
that I finally understood
that there had been a sacrifice, not a murder,
that you bled in the name of a lamb you once cherished,
and you must be young, or it would have been a goat.

Your poems were quick, impressionistic sketches
of a girl jumping from stone to stone across a creek
with an affection for her loneliness as if
all the dandelions had gone into exile.
I wasn’t quite sure what came out of the silk cocoons
you hung everywhere on the wet branches of your poetry,
sometimes I thought it was just you wrapped in blankets
and other times, dragonflies and violet fairies,
and there was hot honey in the sexual hives of your bees.

And I think I fell in love with your ghost before I did you
when I realized that every poem was the next bucket
of a waterclock that was trying to get something off its skin,
each a small pond where you renewed your virginity
by bathing in mirrors, and that was how you knew
what time it was, and where you had been,
by all the swirling faces that floated downstream.

And now, something has changed,
you open the windows wider
and let the world in, your grey blue-green lichens
are no longer the masks of the moon, and your poems don’t end
with the flags of who you are
flying at halfmast as much anymore,
though I can still hear the odd sparrow
brain itself to death with a thud against a glass sky
and I like the new depth in the guest dimensions of your seeing.
And there are stars showing up everywhere like migrant candles
in all the nebular nests of your being.

And I’ve stood here a long time now
and watched you rise shyly out of your poems
like the orange dancers in the forest who leap like flames
or the starmap of a mysterious constellation
I couldn’t identify above the hills of your body
until I saw it was the nightly journal of a blue panther
who had crept up on me in the invigilant silence from behind
as if two shadows had met in the dark like eyes and grapevines
and tangled up in each other like kites,
neither knowing where they began
or how they would end, if ever,
confessed to the webs and the wines
that they were in love with each other,
that there was lightning in the powerlines at last,
and transformers everywhere going off like landmines
and a voice in the shining, that knew, without a word,
that they were the sign of legends who woke without a past.

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Patrick White

You Can't Embrace Me With Your Moderate Love

You can't embrace me with your moderate love
as if two arms were one too many to give someone a hug,
or one eye were enough to look at the stars in your lover's eyes,
and make up constellations you've never seen before.

I've never fallen in love with anyone who ever
made my whole body feel like it was a ghost amputee
who had never gotten over the memory of having one.
You can't read Braille without fingertips.

And it's either brave and suicidally noble, or something
drastically real about me but I've always preferred
the dark, dangerous muse, to the sunny cheerleader
who cut the bananas into my cereal just for the potassium.

No moon. No music. No slumming in heaven
when we take every other nightshift off from hell
and then walk out on the job permanently like a Tarot deck
to see how it feels to be a shipwreck on the bottom of a prophecy

that foretold, one day, swimmers and drowners alike
would be in it way up over their heads. And that's
when I learned to count on my heart
like an overturned lifeboat to keep things afloat

for me and anyone I love who went into exile beside me.
Got to be ancient starmaps in her eyes
like the return address of extraterrestials
who promised to come back one day

and make crop circles in the hay together.
And fireflies for back up in the long dark halls
of what we were reading when the stars went out
and we opened up to each other about our secret research

into the comparative mythology of each other's psyche.
Even at high noon I want to look out of the corner of my eye
and see in the depths of her silence, stars
hiding out in the shadows on the bottom of her wishing wells

and know that she's ok at either end of the telescope.
And I'll show her the sun shining at midnight
and the moon among the corals, and come up like a pearl diver
with new metaphors to show her how I can still see her radiance

like a lunar eclipse in a mystic moon rise just behind
the guile of her veils and the eyelashes of her tree line.
And there shall be no shadow upon the earth
that she casts behind her that shall remain starless.

And it must be well understood from the very start
that you can't put the wing of an eagle on one side of the heart
and that of a sparrow on the other, even less so, a dragon,
and expect it to fly very good or straight to the mark.

And no broken arrows of the promises
we make to each other at a rain dance for the waters of life.
And no sipping from the river when there's a chance
to swallow it all in a single gulp and satisfy all wells at once

without getting the waterbirds stuck in our throats
like the high notes of sacred syllables above the reach
of the black swans that live in our chimneys for free.
By all means, I want to see the light

but coming out of the dark like a nightbird
with a message that wasn't meant for anyone else.
She can be swarmed by faeries, she can
live on a menu of mushrooms and toadstools,

all the soft gilled things without hooks in them she wants
I don't care, as long as she includes
a banshee or two scratching at her wings like windows
to be let in to the inner sanctum of her devotion

like a black candle at a white mass for wounded voodoo dolls.
And if she wants me to jump through her wilderness fires
to satisfy her occult desires in a coven of one
that's ok too as long as she's enough of a firemaster

to know when I've been done well. Not medium rare.
And I won't have things fifty-fifty, a hundred and fifty percent
and a hundred and fifty percent, or die in the attempt,
because anything less than that is nothing at all.

Love when it comes to the hour of gates, becomes
the best of the other in the leaving, as your lover
absorbs in the turn-counterturn-stand of the perennial dance
things about you she loved at first glance, jewels and virtues,

and all the wildflowers a suffering soul puts out with generosity
that were meant for her eyes only, even you
couldn't see in yourself at the time because even
among the most enlightened of us, the deepest insight

into ourselves as embodiments of thoughtless reality
is always blind. And if you couldn't find what you wanted
together, you always find it under your pillow
once the other who left it like a parting gift is gone.

Don't want anyone after we've broken up
who doesn't know how to honour the memory of what we tried
to be to each other before we outgrew what we meant
when we vowed to console our loss of happiness

with peace and a gentle release of the moon
like a blossom from a dead branch in the middle of winter.
She can come to me flawed, she can come to me wounded.
She can come to me like an apostate sunflower

who wandered off the beaten path to follow the moon.
Selfless as we all are behind our delusions of probity
who remains to be a judge of character except
the most doubtful and disdainfully vain among us?

Let the death masks argue it out among themselves
who is real and who is not, who's been true and who forgot,
as for me and my house, I'd rather be loved than right.
I'd rather have my lover's head in my lap at the end of the night,

or mine in hers. I'd rather stand beside her
and look up at the stars together as if they knew
more about us than us about them, than feel them
hemorrhaging like supernovae in both our eyes

arguing like medieval theologians painting
a picture on the third eye of the telescope
we're looking at through both lenses simultaneously
eye to eye, tooth to tooth, one false idol to the other,

squabbling over whose lop-sided view of the paradise
we planted to live in together, is most worthy of worship,
the hunter or the farmer, the hunter or the farmer,
keeping in mind women invented agriculture.

Intrigue me, berate me, teach, upgrade, or refute me,
just let me feel your hand when I suffer
as if it were the wing of a bird
I was scrying aviomantically to see

if it had healed enough to fly, to make
my homelessness a big enough sky for her
to spread her wings in and wheel
on the passionate thermals of joy

that arise within me like double helices of inspiration.
And in return, I would promise her to never think
I'd found an answer to her mystery, or a reply
to the silences that abound within her

like nightbirds that just won't answer.
And if she's not in her shrine when I come to lay
a bouquet of stars at the foot of her temple stairwells,
or off at a coven somewhere with the Horned One,

trying to get a handle on my polyphrenic diversity
that can speak to the angels as well as the demons in tongues.
Shapeshifter though I may be, I promise her
by the time she gets home she'll always recognize me

in the form that most becomes her. I've always thought
that death was shorter than life, because
death isn't lived through even for a moment and if
anything lasts forever anywhere, it's right here

where we can dance like rootless trees to the songs of the nightbirds
and listen to the squirrels in the walls in the morning
stacking black walnuts like prophetic skulls,
and reach out to the waterlilies like dragonflies

that know how to interpret them like loveletters on the sly.

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Robert Frost

The Death of the Hired Man

Mary sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table
Waiting for Warren. When she heard his step,
She ran on tip-toe down the darkened passage
To meet him in the doorway with the news
And put him on his guard. "Silas is back."
She pushed him outward with her through the door
And shut it after her. "Be kind," she said.
She took the market things from Warren's arms
And set them on the porch, then drew him down
To sit beside her on the wooden steps.

"When was I ever anything but kind to him?
But I'll not have the fellow back," he said.
"I told him so last haying, didn't I?
'If he left then,' I said, 'that ended it.'
What good is he? Who else will harbour him
At his age for the little he can do?
What help he is there's no depending on.
Off he goes always when I need him most.
'He thinks he ought to earn a little pay,
Enough at least to buy tobacco with,
So he won't have to beg and be beholden.'
'All right,' I say, 'I can't afford to pay
Any fixed wages, though I wish I could.'
'Someone else can.' 'Then someone else will have to.'
I shouldn't mind his bettering himself
If that was what it was. You can be certain,
When he begins like that, there's someone at him
Trying to coax him off with pocket-money,--
In haying time, when any help is scarce.
In winter he comes back to us. I'm done."

"Sh! not so loud: he'll hear you," Mary said.

"I want him to: he'll have to soon or late."

"He's worn out. He's asleep beside the stove.
When I came up from Rowe's I found him here,
Huddled against the barn-door fast asleep,
A miserable sight, and frightening, too--
You needn't smile--I didn't recognise him--
I wasn't looking for him--and he's changed.
Wait till you see."

"Where did you say he'd been?"

"He didn't say. I dragged him to the house,
And gave him tea and tried to make him smoke.
I tried to make him talk about his travels.
Nothing would do: he just kept nodding off."

"What did he say? Did he say anything?"

"But little."

"Anything? Mary, confess
He said he'd come to ditch the meadow for me."


" ;But did he? I just want to know."

"Of course he did. What would you have him say?
Surely you wouldn't grudge the poor old man
Some humble way to save his self-respect.
He added, if you really care to know,
He meant to clear the upper pasture, too.
That sounds like something you have heard before?
Warren, I wish you could have heard the way
He jumbled everything. I stopped to look
Two or three times--he made me feel so queer--
To see if he was talking in his sleep.
He ran on Harold Wilson--you remember--
The boy you had in haying four years since.
He's finished school, and teaching in his college.
Silas declares you'll have to get him back.
He says they two will make a team for work:
Between them they will lay this farm as smooth!
The way he mixed that in with other things.
He thinks young Wilson a likely lad, though daft
On education--you know how they fought
All through July under the blazing sun,
Silas up on the cart to build the load,
Harold along beside to pitch it on."

"Yes, I took care to keep well out of earshot."

"Well, those days trouble Silas like a dream.
You wouldn't think they would. How some things linger!
Harold's young college boy's assurance piqued him.
After so many years he still keeps finding
Good arguments he sees he might have used.
I sympathise. I know just how it feels
To think of the right thing to say too late.
Harold's associated in his mind with Latin.
He asked me what I thought of Harold's saying
He studied Latin like the violin
Because he liked it--that an argument!
He said he couldn't make the boy believe
He could find water with a hazel prong--
Which showed how much good school had ever done him.
He wanted to go over that. But most of all
He thinks if he could have another chance
To teach him how to build a load of hay----"

"I know, that's Silas' one accomplishment.
He bundles every forkful in its place,
And tags and numbers it for future reference,
So he can find and easily dislodge it
In the unloading. Silas does that well.
He takes it out in bunches like big birds' nests.
You never see him standing on the hay
He's trying to lift, straining to lift himself."

"He thinks if he could teach him that, he'd be
Some good perhaps to someone in the world.
He hates to see a boy the fool of books.
Poor Silas, so concerned for other folk,
And nothing to look backward to with pride,
And nothing to look forward to with hope,
So now and never any different."

Part of a moon was falling down the west,
Dragging the whole sky with it to the hills.
Its light poured softly in her lap. She saw
And spread her apron to it. She put out her hand
Among the harp-like morning-glory strings,
Taut with the dew from garden bed to eaves,
As if she played unheard the tenderness
That wrought on him beside her in the night.
"Warren," she said, "he has come home to die:
You needn't be afraid he'll leave you this time."

"Home," he mocked gently.

"Yes, what else but home?
It all depends on what you mean by home.
Of course he's nothing to us, any more
Than was the hound that came a stranger to us
Out of the woods, worn out upon the trail."

"Home is the place where, when you have to go there,
They have to take you in."

"I should have called it
Something you somehow haven't to deserve."

Warren leaned out and took a step or two,
Picked up a little stick, and brought it back
And broke it in his hand and tossed it by.
"Silas has better claim on us you think
Than on his brother? Thirteen little miles
As the road winds would bring him to his door.
Silas has walked that far no doubt to-day.
Why didn't he go there? His brother's rich,
A somebody--director in the bank."

"He never told us that."

"We know it though."

"I think his brother ought to help, of course.
I'll see to that if there is need. He ought of right
To take him in, and might be willing to--
He may be better than appearances.
But have some pity on Silas. Do you think
If he'd had any pride in claiming kin
Or anything he looked for from his brother,
He'd keep so still about him all this time?"

"I wonder what's between them."

"I can tell you.
Silas is what he is--we wouldn't mind him--
But just the kind that kinsfolk can't abide.
He never did a thing so very bad.
He don't know why he isn't quite as good
As anyone. He won't be made ashamed
To please his brother, worthless though he is."

"I can't think Si ever hurt anyone."

"No, but he hurt my heart the way he lay
And rolled his old head on that sharp-edged chair-back.
He wouldn't let me put him on the lounge.
You must go in and see what you can do.
I made the bed up for him there to-night.
You'll be surprised at him--how much he's broken.
His working days are done; I'm sure of it."

"I'd not be in a hurry to say that."

"I haven't been. Go, look, see for yourself.
But, Warren, please remember how it is:
He's come to help you ditch the meadow.
He has a plan. You mustn't laugh at him.
He may not speak of it, and then he may.
I'll sit and see if that small sailing cloud
Will hit or miss the moon."

It hit the moon.
Then there were three there, making a dim row,
The moon, the little silver cloud, and she.

Warren returned--too soon, it seemed to her,
Slipped to her side, caught up her hand and waited.

"Warren," she questioned.

"Dead," was all he answered.

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How Do You Feed A Tozzle-Moffed Took? **A Children's Tale

'It takes a long time to grow young.'
-Pablo Picasso

Marvin O'Hannigan Fillimigroo
Made his Birthday wish.
Oh, he would be the envy
Of all his friends
If he had but one Pineapple Fish.

He'd learned about them
In class at school,
And he was positive this time,
That he truly needed
That Pineapple Fish.
For he had long
Made up his mind.
'Oh, my friends will stomp
Their tobble toes.
They'll plop out
Like a China Rose
When they find I got my
Birthday Wish,
And finally have
A Pineapple Fish! '

But Marvin O'Hannigan Fillimigroo
Thought and thought and thought
This through.
He decided, after much ado,
He had no need of a fish.

He had Gold fishes
And Mold fishes
And some rather shy Bold fishes.
He had tropical fishes
Right up to galore!
He had fishes with fleas,
And a fish who could sneeze.
And he didn't really
Need any more!

Besides, Pineapple Fish
Grow very large -
Much larger than a whale!
But he'd be the envy of
All his friends
If he had a Racing Snail!
For Racing Snails are very rare!
And quick as a Wyck can be.
'Oh, if only I had a Racing Snail,
All of my friends would envy me.'

'They'd wave at me as I rode by!
They'd shoot their Sparklers in the sky!
They'd jump and shout and nod and say,
From very near and far away
'Young Marvin will have some tales to tell,
About his grand new Racing Snail! '

But one simple mystery so perplexed him.
There was a tiny little fear that vexed him.
'Suppose I take it outside to play,
And my Racing Snail just runs away?
Suppose it runs and runs so far
We can't catch up to it by car?
What if it races down a lane
We cannot reach by aeroplane?
What if it finds a Florida Key
And then it swims across the sea? '
He thought and let his thinker whirr,
He heard it tick-tack-tick and purr.
And when his brilliance chimed its Genius Bell.
He sighed, 'I do not need a Racing Snail.'

He said, 'Racing Snails. I mean, Marvin. Really!
Aren't they just a little silly?
Racing here, and racing there,
Like the prickles from a pumpkin pear.
Racing high, and racing low,
Until there's nowhere left to go.

Marvin tapped and tapped his pen
And let his thinker think.
He looked down at his clever list,
And all that green-green ink.
He bit his lip quite thoughtfully,
And blinked a knowing blink,
As deep, deep, deep, deep down inside
His mind echoed 'think think think! '

'I have the perfect Birthday Wish, '
He told nobody there.
'The finest sort of Birthday Wish
You'll ever want to share! '
Then he carefully jotted down a thought
He thought was rather fine,
The finest thoughtful thought young Marvin
Had upon his mind.
And, oh, this thought was ripe, you see?
With wild possibility!
It was the finest sort of thought there is,
And all because this thought was his.

'Oh, who needs monkeys? Who needs trains?
Who needs big old aeroplanes?
That sort of gift would just make me laugh.
But, Oh, if I had me a Giraffe,
I'd be a fair celebrity -
All of my friends would want to be
The kind of me they see,
And oh,
If I only had a Giraffe, they'd know
That Marvin O'Hannigan Fillimigroo
Knows he knows a thing or two! '

And with that, Marvin sighed a sigh
That tip-toed half way to the sky.
He shook his head
If only to free a few thoughts,
Thoughts so confined, they were tied up in knots.
Sly dotted Knots
All covered with spots,
Thoughts once held captive,
Collected and clear,
So many thoughts that they
Tickled his ear.
And he smiled so wide,
His right eye seemed to shine,
An amazing idea,
And it twitched at his mind.
'A Giraffe would be nice,
If he knows how to read.
If he gets along great
With my new Millipede.
If he doesn't burp loud,
Or chew on Mom's Parlor drapes,
And if he doesn't eat any
Of Grandma's Green Grapes.
Oh, but I'd be the most famous kid around.
I'd be the talk of the whole town.
All my friends would obble up and down
If I had a Hippillopottomus Bear! '

Marvin tapped at his noggin'
And breathed in the afternoon air.
'I'd be the envy of all
With my Hippillopottomus Bear!
They run a tight ship -
They drink Bobber's Root Beer.
And they hibernate six whole months
Out of the year.
They have their own toothbrush,
And they don't watch TV.
Why, that would be the perfect
Birthday present for me.'

'Hippillopottomus Bears like their trees.
And Hippillopottomus Bears like their bees,
And as sure as I can rightly see,
They love their chilled Cucumber Tea.
They like to growl. They like to roar.
They do not know what a chair is for.
But that won't stop them,
Because they don't care.
A Hippillopottomus Bear will
Sit most anywhere.
Yes, I'd be famous there and here.
And all of my good friends would cheer
Every time they saw me there
With my Hippillopottomus Bear.
They'd say, 'That Marvin
Sure has lots of pluck.
And he is sure one lucky duck.'
But then his eyes lost half their shine,
A disappointment came to mind,
And he whispered, 'But this is not
A Counting Mouse.
Mom would never let one in the house.
And I think I can well assume
Mom won't allow one in my room.'
And quiety he watched the sky,
As a sadness shimmered in his eye.
Clouds were gently drifting through
The gentle springtime sun he knew,
And though the day seemed somewhat glad,
Marvin felt a little sad,
As though he'd wished for something he knew he,
Chances are, would never see.

So, Marvin O'Hannigan Fillimigroo
Counted up to One Hundred
And Seventy-Two,
As he thought and he thought,
With a calm, centered mind,
For that one in a million
Gifts only great thinkers find.
After all,
Marvin was different.
He was his own man.
And he'd never do anything
That he did not plan.
And as a Great Thinker,
His Genius was fair.
So he wrote every one of his
Thoughtful plans there,
Scribbled them down
In his Plan-Planners Book,
And circled the Plans
That deserved a fresh look.
And right under Two-Hundred and
He noticed a something
That he'd written in green.

It read
Take a good look
At a Tozzle-Moffed Took.'
With a picture, or three,
And some gobbledygook
About clipping a feather
And clipping it right,
So your Tozzle-Moffed Took
Does not spring into flight,
And fly, fly away
To a much nicer place
And a much finer day.
But Marvin dismissed that
And shrugged at the thought.

I do not want to look
At a Tozzle-Moffed Took.
I do not want to hear them at all.
Oh, the things I have heard
About this crazy old bird
Could sicken a medicine ball.
They're roundy, they're smelly,
And just a touch yelley,
They snittle with every fine snoot.
They'll eat all your toothpaste,
And unscrew all the lights,
And they simply will not give a hoot.'

But something surprised him,
And he had to pause,
And he stared at the
Tozzle-Moffed picture, because
Somewhere in the heart of his memory, he
Knew what a great bird this odd Took ought to be.
'Eat toothpaste? ' he sighed,
And his mind fired hot.
'Some birds, oh, they may,
But my own Took will not.'
For he thought with the Mastery
Of the Thinker he was,
And then nodded and smiled
In his simple applause.

'I know what I want.
And it's fine as a wish can be.
For there isn't anyone who can see
The things I see.
The Pineapple Fish
Was a silly idea.
And a mere Racing Snail
From South-West Tanzania
Would just take up room,
And be no fun at play.
And I'm almost assured
It would just run away.

And that Hippillopottomus Bear
Mom will not let me keep.
It is a great Wish, of course.
But I'll not lose any sleep.
I'll keep that to myself,
And not whisper a word.
But, Oh, I'd be lucky,
I would,
If I had a bird
That can fly,
Really fly in the sky
Like a plane,
A bird that can fly
Just as high
As a Crane.
A bird that can flitter
And twitter and tweet
As loud as a silvery
Piccolo Pete!
Oh, I'd be the envy
Of all of my friends,
From North-East Peabody,
To where the road bends!
If I had a Tozzle-Moffed Took,
They'd all see
Nobody has a Tozzle-Moffed Took
Quite like me.

For they are rarer than rare,
And they're so hard to find,
They'll never, not ever,
See one quite like mine!
My friends will be so impressed
Of the Took that we found,
I'd be the most famous
Took owner around.
They'd wave and they'd cheer
Every time I went by.
They'd toggle their bobbles
High into the sky.
They'd trump all their trumpets,
And clap all their hands.
They hop just like rabbits
And shoot rubber bands!
They'd pat my shoulders
And I'd hear them all say,
'Marvin O'Hannigan Fillimigroo,
This is your day! '
And all would be fine,
All would be much, much, much,
Finer than fine.
My friends, they'd so envy
This fine life of mine.'

And he wondered, he did,
Hoping to find
An answer to questions
That now come to mind.
Like how high do they fly?
And how long is their beak?
Are their feathers the kind
That wiggle and squeak?
Do they coo? Do they caw?
Do they buzz like a saw?
Do they lay colored eggs,
Or are they tiny as flecks?
Or do they stare just to stare
As they twist up their necks?
Are they happy-type Tooks,
Or do they ever get mad?
Oh, I certainly hope
They don't smell really bad.

And he thought for a spell,
As he scratched at his head,
Reviewing every thoughtful
Thing he had read.
And as he let out a sigh
He chewed on his pen,
And reviewed every note
He had read once again.
What do they eat?
And where do they sleep?
What kind of cages
Will I have to keep?
This is beginning to sound
Like more work than play.
This is beginning to sound
Like I'll have no more say.
This is beginning to sound
Like I've made a mistake,
It is beginning to sound
Like a crummy headache.
Heck, I don't even know
How to feed a Tozzle-Moffed Took.
And I'm not even sure
I can stomach that look.
And he bit on his lip, then
Scratched at his head, and said,
'Maybe I should just ask for
A puppy instead? '

Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler

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AN ELEGY Upon the most Incomparable K. Charles the First

Call for amazed thoughts, a wounded sense
And bleeding Hearts at our Intelligence.
Call for that Trump of Death the Mandrakes Groan
Which kills the Hearers: This befits alone
Our Story which through times vast Kalendar
Must stand without Example or Repair.
What spowts of melting Clowds what endless springs
Powr'd in the Oceans lapp for offerings
Shall feed the hungry torrent of our grief
Too mighty for expression or belief?
Though all those moistures which the brain attracts
Ran from our eyes like gushing Cataracts,
Or our sad accents could out-tongue the Cryes
Which did from mournful Hadadrimmon rise
Since that remembrance of Josiah slain
In our King's murther is reviv'd again.
O pardon me that but from Holy Writ
Our losse allowes no Parallel to it:
Nor call it bold presumption that I dare
Charles with the best of Judah's Kings compare:
The vertues of whose life did I prefer
The Text acquits me for no Flatterer.
For He like David perfect in his trust,
Was never stayn'd like Him, with Blood or Lust.
One who with Solomon in Judgement try'd,
Was quick to comprehend, Wise to decide,
(That even his Judges stood amaz'd to hear
A more transcendent Moover in their Sphear)
Though more Religious: for when doting Love
A while made Solomon Apostate proove
Charles nev'r endur'd the Truth which he profest
To be unfixt by Bosome interest.
Bold as Jehosaphat, yet forc'd to Fight,
And for his own, no unconcerned Right.
Should I recount His constant time of Pray'r
Each rising Morn and Ev'ning Regular
You'ld say his practice preach'd They ought not Eat
Who by devotion first not earn'd their Meat.
Thus Hezekiah He exceeds in Zeal,
Though not (like him) So facile to reveal
The Treasures of Gods House, or His own Heart
To be supplanted by some forcin art.
And that he might in fame with Joash share
When he the ruin'd Temple did repair,
His cost on Paules late ragged Fabrick spent
Must (if no other) be His Monument.
From this Survey the Kingdom may conclude
His Merits, and her Losses Magnitude.
Nor think he flatters or blasphemes, who tells
That Charls exceeds Judea's Parallels,
In whom all Vertues we concentred see
Which 'mongst the best of them divided be.
O weak built Glories! which those Tempests feel
To force you from your firmest bases reel,
What from the stroaks of Chance shall you secure,
When Rocks of Innocence are so unsure?
When the World's only mirror slaughter'd lies,
Envies and Treasons bleeding sacrifize?
As if His stock of Goodnesse could become
No Kalendar, but that of Martyrdom.
See now ye cursed Mountebanks of State,
Who have Eight years for Reformation sate;
You who dire Alva's Counsels did transfer
To Act his Scenes on England's Theater;
You who did pawn your Selves in Publick Faith
To slave the Kingdome by your Pride and Wrath;
Call the whole World to witnesse now, how just,
How well you are responsive to your trust,
How to your King the promise you perform,
With Fasts, and Sermons, and long Prayers sworn,
That you intended Peace and Truth to bring
To make your Charls Europes most Glorious King.
Did you for this Lift up your Hands on high,
To Kill the King, and pluck down Monarchy?
These are the Fruits by your vvild Faction sown,
Which not Imputed are, but Born your own.
For though you wisely seem to wash your Hands,
The Guilt on every Vote and Order stands.
So that convinc'd from all you did before,
Justice must lay the Murther at your Door.
Mark if the Body does not Bleed anew,
In any Circumstance approach'd by You,
From whose each motion we might plain descry
The black Ostents of this late Tragedy.
For when the King through Storms in Scotland bred
To his Great Councel for his shelter fled,
When in that meeting every Error gain'd
Redresses sooner granted, than Complain'd:
Not all those frank Concessions or Amends
Did suit the then too Powerfull Faction's ends,
No Acts of Grace at present would Content,
Nor Promise of Triennial Parl'ament,
Till by a formal Law the King had past
This Session should at Your pleasure last.
So having got the Bitt, and that 'twas known
No power could dissolve You but Your own,
Your gracelesse Junto make such use of this,
As once was practis'd by Semiramis;
Who striving by a subtile Sute to prove
The largenesse of her Husbands Trust and Love,
Did from the much abused King obtain
That for three dayes She might sole Empresse reign:
Before which time expir'd, the bloody Wife
Depriv'd her Lord both of his Crown and Life.
There needs no Comment when your deeds apply
The Demonstration of her Treachery.
Which to effect by Absolon's foul wile
You of the Peoples Heart your Prince beguile;
Urging what Eases they might reap by it
Did you their Legislative Judges sit.
How did you fawn upon, and Court the Rout,
Whose Clamour carry'd your whole Plot about?
How did you thank Seditious men that came
To bring Petitions which your selves did frame?
And lest they wanted Hands to set them on,
You lead the way by throwing the first stone.
For in that Libel after Midnight born,
Wherewith your Faction labour'd till the Morn,
That famous Lye, you a Remonstrance name;
Were not Reproaches your malitious aim?
Was not the King's dishonour your intent
By Slanders to traduce his Government?
All which your spightful Cunning did contrive
Men must receive through your false Perspective,
In which the smallest Spots improved were,
And every Mote a Mountain did appear.
Thus Cæsar by th'ungrateful Senate found
His Life assaulted through his Honor's Wound.
And now to make Him hopelesse to resist,
You guide His Sword by Vote, which as you list
Must Strike or Spare (for so you did enforce
His Hand against His Reason to divorce
Brave Strafford's Life) then wring it quite away
By your usurping Each Militia:
Then seize His Magazines, of which possest
You turn the Weapons 'gainst their Master's Breast.
This done, th'unkennell'd crew of Lawless men
Led down by Watkins, Pennington, and Ven,
Did with confused noise the Court invade;
Then all Dissenters in Both Houses Bay'd.
At which the King amaz'd is forc'd to flye,
The whilst your Mouth's laid on maintain the Cry.
The Royal Game dislodg'd and under Chase,
Your hot Pursute dogs Him from place to place:
Not Saul with greater fury or disdain
Did flying David from Jeshimon's plain
Unto the barren Wildernesse pursue,
Than Cours'd and Hunted is the King by you.
The Mountain Partridge or the Chased Roe
Might now for Emblemes of His Fortune go.
And since all other May-games of the Town
(Save those your selves should make) were Voted down,
The Clam'rous Pu'pit Hollaes in resort,
Inviting men to your King-catching Sport.
Where as the Foyl grows cold you mend the Sent
By crying Privilege of Parliament,
Whose fair Pretensions the first sparkles are,
Which by your breath blown up enflame the War,
And Ireland (bleeding by design) the Stale
Wherewith for Men and Mony you prevail.
Yet doubting that Imposture could not last,
When all the Kingdoms Mines of Treasure waste,
You now tear down Religion's sacred Hedge
To carry on the Work by Sacriledge;
Reputing it Rebellions fittest Pay
To take both God's and Cesar's dues away.
The tenor of which execrable Vote
Your over-active Zelots so promote,
That neither Tomb nor Temple could escape,
Nor Dead nor Living your Licentious Rape.
Statues and Grave-stones o're men buried
Rob'd of their Brass, the Coffins of their Led;
Not the Seventh Henry's gilt and curious Skreen,
Nor those which 'mongst our Rarities were seen,
The Chests wherein the Saxon Monarchs lay,
But must be basely sold or thrown away.
May in succeeding times forgotten be
Those bold Examples of Impiety,
Which were the Ages wonder and discourse,
You have Their greatest ills improv'd by worse.
No more be mention'd Dionysius Theft,
Who of their Gold the Heathen Shrines bereft;
For who with Yours His Robberies confer,
Must him repute a petty Pilferer.
Nor Julian's Scoff, who when he view'd the State
Of Antioch's Church, the Ornaments and Plate,
Cry'd, Meaner Vessels would serve turn, or None
Might well become the birth of Mary's Sonn
Nor how that spightfull Atheist did in scorn
Pisse on God's Table, which so oft had born
The hallow'd Elements his death present:
Nor he that fould it with his Excrement,
Then turn'd the Cloth unto that act of shame,
Which without trembling Christians should not name.
Nor John of Leyden, who the pillag'd Quires
Employ'd in Munster for his own attires;
His pranks by Hazlerig exceeded be,
A wretch more wicked and as mad as he,
Who once in triumph led his Sumpter Moil
Proudly bedecked with the Altar's spoil.
Nor at Bizantium's sack how Mahomet
In St. Sophia's Church his Horses set.
Nor how Belshazzar at his drunken Feasts
Carows'd in holy Vessels to his Guests:
Nor he that did the Books and Anthems tear,
Which in the daily Stations used were.
These were poor Essayes of imperfect Crimes,
Fit for beginners in unlearned times,
Siz'd onely for that dull Meridian
Which knew no Jesuit nor Puritan,
(Before whose fatal Birth were no such things
As Doctrines to Depose and Murther Kings.)
But since Your prudent care Enacted well,
That there should be no King in Israel,
England must write such Annals of Your Reign
Which all Records of elder mischiefs stain.
Churches unbuilt by order, others burn'd;
Whilst Pauls and Lincoln are to Stables turn'd;
And at God's Table you might Horses see
By (those more Beasts) their Riders manger'd be.
Some Kitchins and some Slaughter-houses made,
Communion-boards and Cloths for Dressers laid:
Some turn'd to loathsome Gaols, so by you brought
Unto the Curse of Baal's House, a Draught.
The Common-Prayers with the Bibles torn,
The Coaps in Antick Moorish-Dances worn,
And sometimes for the wearers greater mock,
The Surplice is converted to a Frock.
Some bringing Dogs the Sacrament revile,
Some with Copronimus the Font defile.
O God! canst Thou these prophanations like?
If not, why is thy Thunder slow to strike
The cursed Authors? who dare think that Thou
Dost, when not punish them, their acts allow.
All which outragious Crimes, though your pretence
Would fasten on the Soldiers insolence,
We must believe that what by them was done
Came licens'd forth by your probation.
For, as your selves with Athaliah's Brood
In strong contention for precedence stood,
You robb'd Two Royall Chapels of their Plate,
Which Kings and Queens to God did dedicate;
Then by a Vote more sordid than the Stealth,
Melt down and Coin it for the Common-wealth;
That is, give't up to the devouring jaws
Of your great Idol Bell, new styl'd The Cause.
And though this Monster you did well devise
To feed by Plunder, Taxes, Loans, Excise;
(All which Provisions You the People tell
Scarce serve to diet Your Pantagruel.)
We no strew'd Ashes need to trace the Cheat,
Who plainly see what Mouthes the Messes eat.
Brave Reformation! and a through one too,
Which to enrich Your selves must All undo.
Pray tell us (those that can) What fruits have grown
From all Your Seeds in Blood and Treasure sown?
What would you mend? when Your Projected State
Doth from the Best in Form degenerate?
Or why should You (of All) attempt the Cure,
Whose Facts nor Gospels Test nor Laws endure?
But like unwholsome Exhalations met
From Your Conjunction onely Plagues beget,
And in Your Circle, as Imposthumes fill
Which by their venome the whole Body kill;
For never had You Pow'r but to Destroy,
Nor Will, but where You Conquer'd to Enjoy.
This was Your Master-prize, who did intend
To make both Churhch and Kingdom's prey Your End.
'Gainst which the King (plac'd in the Gap) did strive
By His (till then unquestion'd) Negative,
Which finding You lack'd Reason to perswade,
Your Arguments are into Weapons made;
So to compell him by main force to yield,
You had a Formed Army in the Field
Before his Reared Standard could invite
Ten men upon his Righteous Cause to fight.
Yet ere those raised Forces did advance,
Your malice struck him dead by Ordinance,
When your Commissions the whole Kingdom swept
With Blood and Slaughter, Not the King Except.
Now hardned in Revolt, You next proceed
By Pacts to strengthen each Rebellious Deed,
New Oaths, and Vows, and Covenants advance,
All contradicting your Allegiance,
Whose Sacred knot you plainly did unty,
When you with Essex swore to Live and Die.
These were your Calves in Bethel and in Dan,
Which Jeroboam's Treason stablish can,
Who by strange Pacts and Altars did seduce
The People to their Laws and and King's abuse;
All which but serve like Soibboleth to try
Those who pronounc'd not your Conspiracy;
That when your other Trains defective are,
Forc'd Oaths might bring Refusers to the Snare.
And lest those men your Counsels did pervert,
Might when your Fraud was seen the Cause desert,
A fierce Decree is through the Kingdom sent,
Which made it Death for any to Repent.
What strange Dilemmaes doth Rebellion make?
'Tis mortal to Deny, or to Partake:
Some Hang who would not aid your Traiterous Act,
Others engag'd are Hang'd if they Retract.
So Witches who their Contracts have unsworn,
By their own Devils are in pieces torn.
Thus still the rageing Tempest higher grows,
Which in Extreams the Kings Resolving throws.
The face of Ruine every where appears,
And Acts of Outrage multiply our fears;
Whilst blind Ambition by Successes fed
Hath You beyond the bound of Subjects led,
Who tasting once the sweet of Regal Sway,
Resolved now no longer to obey.
For Presbyterian pride contests as high
As doth the Popedom for Supremacy.
Needs must you with unskilful Phaeton
Aspire to guide the Chariot of the Sun,
Though your ill-govern'd height with lightning be
Thrown headlong from his burning Axle-tree.
You will no more Petition or Debate,
But your desire in Propositions state,
Which by such Rules and Ties the King confine,
They in effect are Summons to Resign.
Therefore your War is manag'd with such sleight,
'Twas seen you more prevail'd by Purse than Might;
And those you could not purchase to your will,
You brib'd with sums of mony to sit still.
The King by this time hopelesse here of Peace,
Or to procure His wasted Peoples ease,
Which He in frequent Messages had try'd,
By you as oft as shamelesly deny'd;
Wearied by faithlesse Friends and restlesse Foes,
To certain hazard doth His Life Expose:
When through your Quarters in a mean disguise
He to His Country-men for succour flies,
Who met a brave occasion then to save
Their Native King from His untimely Grave:
Had he from them such fair reception gain'd,
Wherewith ev'n Achish David entertain'd.
But Faith to Him or hospitable Laws
In your Confederate Union were no Clause,
Which back to you their Rendred Master sends
To tell how He was us'd among his friends.
Far be it from my thoughts by this black Line
To measure all within that Warlick Clime;
The still admir'd Montross some Numbers lead
In his brave steps of Loyalty to tread.
I onely tax a furious Party There,
Who with our Native Pests Enleagued were.
Then 'twas you follow'd Him with Hue and Cry,
Made Midnight Searches in Each Liberty,
Voting it death to all without Reprieve,
Who should their Master Harbor or Relieve.
Ev'n in pure pitty of both Nations Fame,
I wish that Act in Story had no name.
When all your Mutual Stipulations are
Converted at Newcastle to a Fair,
Where (like His Lord) the King the Mart is made,
Bought with Your Mony, and by Them Betraid;
For both are guilty, They that did Contract,
And You that did the fatal Bargain Act.
Which who by equal Reason shall peruse,
Must yet conclude, They had the best Excuse:
For doubtlesse They (Good men) had never sold,
But that you tempted Them with English Gold;
And 'tis no wonder if with such a Sum
Our Brethrens frailty might be overcome.
What though hereafter it may prove Their Lot
To be compared with Iscariot?
Yet will the World perceive which was most wise,
And who the Nobler Traitor by the Price;
For though 'tis true Both did Themselves undo,
They made the better Bargain of the Two,
Which all may reckon who can difference
Two hundred thousand Pounds from Thirty Pence.
However something is in Justice due,
Which may be spoken in defence of You;
For in your Masters Purchase you gave more,
Than all your Jewish kindred paid before.
And had you wisely us'd what then you bought,
Your Act might be a Loyal Ransom thought,
To free from Bonds your Captive Soverain,
Restoring Him to his lost Crown again.
But You had other plots, you busie hate
Ply'd all advantage on His fallen State,
And shew'd You did not come to bring Him Bayl,
But to remove Him to a stricter Gaol,
To Holmby first, whence taken from His Bed,
He by an Army was in triumph led;
Till on pretence of safety Cromwel's wile
Had juggel'd Him into the Fatal Isle,
Where Hammond for his Jaylor is decreed,
And Murderous Rolf as Lieger-Hangman fee'd,
Who in one fatal Knot Two Counsels tye,
He must by Poison or by Pistol Die.
Here now deny'd all Comforts due to Life,
His Friends, His Children, and His Peerlesse Wife;
From Carisbrook He oft but vainly sends,
And though first Wrong'd, seeks to make you Amends;
For this He sues, and by His restlesse Pen
Importunes Your deaf Ears to Treat agen.
Whilst the proud Faction scorning to go lesse,
Return those Trait'rous Votes of Non Address,
Which follow'd were by th'Armies thundring
To Act without and quite against the King.
Yet when that Clowd remov'd, and the clear Light,
Drawn from His weighty Reasons, gave You sight
Of Your own dangers, had not Their Intents
Retarded been by some crosse Accidents;
Which for a while with fortunate Suspense
Check'd or diverted Their swoln Insolence:
When the whole Kingdom for a Treaty cry'd,
Which gave such credit to Your falling side,
That you Recall'd those Votes, and God once more
Your Power to save the Kingdom did restore,
Remember how Your peevish Treators sate,
Not to make Peace, but to prolong Debate;
How You that precious time at first delay'd,
And what ill use of Your advantage made,
As if from Your foul hands God had decreed
Nothing but War and Mischief should succeed.
For when by easie Grants the Kings Assent
Did your desires in greater things prevent,
When He did yield faster than You intreat,
And more than Modesty dares well repeat;
Yet not content with this, without all sense,
Or of His Honor or His Conscience,
Still you prest on, till you too late descry'd,
'Twas now lesse safe to stay than be deny'd.
For like a Flood broke loose the Armed Rout,
Then Shut Him closer up, And Shut You out,
Who by just vengeance are since Worryed
By those Hand-wolves You for His Ruine bred.
Thus like Two Smoaking Firebrands, You and They
Have in this Smother choak'd the Kingdom's Day.
And as you rais'd Them first, must share the Guilt,
With all the Blood in those Distractions spilt.
For though with Sampson's Foxes backward turn'd,
(When he Philistia's fruitful Harvest burn'd)
The face of your opinions stands averse,
All your Conclusions but one fire disperse;
And every Line which carries your Designes,
In the same Centre of Confusion joyns.
Though then the Independents end the Work,
'Tis known they took their Platform from the Kirk;
Though Pilate Bradshaw with his pack of Jews
God's High Vice-gerent at the Bar accuse,
They but reviv'd the Evidence and Charge
Your poys'nous Declarations laid at large;
Though they condemn'd or made his Life their Spoil,
You were the Setters forc'd him to the Toil:
For you whose fatal hand the Warrant writ,
The Prisoner did for Execution fit.
And if their Ax invade the Regal Throat,
Remember you first murther'd Him by Vote.
Thus They receive Your Tennis at the bound,
Take off that Head which you had first Un-crown'd;
Which shews the Texture of our Mischiefs Clew,
If ravel'd to the Top, begins in You,
Who have forever stain'd the brave Intents
And Credit of our English Parliaments:
And in this One caus'd greater Ills, and more,
Than all of theirs did Good that went before.
Yet have you kept your word against Your will,
Your King is Great indeed and Glorious still,
And you have made Him so. We must impute
That Lustre which His Sufferings contribute
To your preposterous Wisdoms, who have done
All your good Deeds by Contradiction:
For as to work His Peace you rais'd this Strife,
And often Shot at Him to Save His Life;
As you took from Him to Encrease His wealth,
And kept Him Pris'ner to secure His Health:
So in revenge of your dissembled Spight,
In this last Wrong you did Him greatest Right,
And (cross to all you meant) by Plucking down
Lifted Him up to His Eternal Crown.
With This encircled in that radiant Sphear,
Where Thy black Murtherers must ne'r appear,
Thou from th'enthroned Martyrs Blood-stain'd Line,
Dost in thy Vertues bright Example shine.
And when Thy darted Beam from the moist Sky
Nightly salutes Thy grieving Peoples Eye,
Thou like some Warning Light rais'd by our fears,
Shalt both provoke and still supply our Tears:
Til the Great Prophet wak'd from his long sleep
Again bids Sion for Josiah weep:
That all Successions by a firm Decree
May teach Their Children to lament for Thee.
Beyond these mournful Rites there is no Art
Or Cost can Thee preserve. Thy better Part
Lives in despight of Death, and will endure
Kept safe in Thy unpattern'd Portraicture:
Which though in Paper drawn by thine own Hand,
Shall longer than Corinthian-Marble stand,
Or Iron Sculptures: There Thy matchlesse Pen
Speaks Thee the Best of Kings as Best of Men:
Be this Thy Epitaph: for This alone
Deserves to carry Thy Inscription.
And 'tis but modest Truth: so may I thrive)
As not to please the Best of Thine Alive,
Of flatter my dead Master, here would I
Pay my last Duty in a Gloriovs Ly)
In that Admired Piece the world may read
Thy Vertues and Misfortunes Storied;
Which bear such curious Mixture, men must doubt
Whether Thou Wiser wert or more Devout.
There live Blest Relick of a Saint-like mind,
With Honors endlesse, as Thy Peace Enshrin'd.
Whilst we, divided by that Bloody Clowd,
Whose purple Mists Thy Murther'd Body shrowd,
Here stay behind at gaze: Apt for Thy sake
Unruly murmurs now 'gainst Heav'n to make,
Which binds us to Live well, yet gives no Fense
To guard her dearest Sons from Violence.
But He whose Trump proclaims, Revenge is Mine,
Bids us our Sorrow by our Hope confine,
And reconcile our Reason to our Faith,
Which in Thy Ruine such Concussions hath,
It dares Conclude, God does not keep His Word
If Zimri die in Peace that slew his Lord.

From my sad Retirement March 11. 1648. CaroLVs stVart reX angLIæ seCVre CoesVs VIta CessIt trICessIMo IanVarII.

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