JOHN MASEFIELD
Oh some are sad and wretched folk that go in silken suits, And there 's a mort of wicked rogues that live in good reputes; So I'm for drinking honestly, and dying in my boots, Like an old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
940 The Passing Strange
|UT of the earth to rest or range
Perpetual in perpetual change, The unknown passing through the strange.
Water and saltness held together
To tread the dust and stand the weather,
And plough the field and stretch the tether,
To pass the wine-cup and be witty, Water the sands and build the city, Slaughter like devils and have pity,
Be red with rage and pale with lust, Make beauty come, make peace, make trust, Water and saltness mixed with dust;
Drive over earth, swim under sea,
Fly in the eagle's secrecy,
Guess where the hidden comets be;
Know all the deathy seeds that still Queen Helen's beauty, Caesar's will, And slay them even as they kill;
Fashion an altar for a rood, Defile a continent with blood, And watch a brother starve for food:
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