646 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And which is more vou'll be a Man, my son!
THE PRODIGAL SON (WESTERN VERSION)
H 1
'ERE come I to my own again,
Fed, forgiven and known again, Claimed by bone of my bone again And cheered by flesh of my flesh. The fatted calf is dressed for me, But the husks have greater zest for me I think my pigs will be best for me, So I'm off to the Yards afresh.
I never was very refined, you see, (And it weighs on my brother's mind, you see) But there's no reproach among swine, d'you see,
For being a bit of a swine.