COBBLER AND STORK

_Cobbler._

Stork, I am justly wroth,
For thou hast wronged me sore;
The ash roof-tree that shelters thee
Shall shelter thee no more!

_Stork._

Full fifty years I’ve dwelt
Upon this honest tree,
And long ago (as people know!)
I brought thy father thee.
What hail hath chilled thy heart,
That thou shouldst bid me go?
Speak out, I pray--then I’ll away,
Since thou commandest so.

_Cobbler._

Thou tellest of the time
When, wheeling from the west,
This hut thou sought’st and one thou brought’st
Unto a mother’s breast.
_I_ was the wretched child
Was fetched that dismal morn--
’Twere better die than be (as I)
To life of misery born!
And hadst thou borne me on
Still farther up the town,
A king I’d be of high degree,
And wear a golden crown!
For yonder lives the prince
Was brought that selfsame day:
How happy he, while--look at me!
I toil my life away!
And see my little boy--
To what estate he’s born!
Why, when I die no hoard leave I
But poverty and scorn.
And _thou_ hast done it all--
I might have been a king
And ruled in state, but for thy hate,
Thou base, perfidious thing!

_Stork._

Since, cobbler, thou dost speak
Of one thou lovest well,
Hear of that king what grievous thing
This very morn befell.
Whilst round thy homely bench
Thy well-belovèd played,
In yonder hall beneath a pall
A little one was laid;
Thy well-belovèd’s face
Was rosy with delight,
But ’neath that pall in yonder hall
The little face is white;
Whilst by a merry voice
Thy soul is filled with cheer,
Another weeps for one that sleeps
All mute and cold anear;
One father hath his hope,
And one is childless now;
_He_ wears a crown and rules a town--
Only a cobbler _thou_!
Wouldst thou exchange thy lot
At price of such a woe?
I’ll nest no more above thy door,
But, as thou bidst me, go.

_Cobbler._

Nay, stork! thou shalt remain--
I mean not what I said;
Good neighbors we must always be,
So make thy home o’erhead.
I would not change my bench
For any monarch’s throne,
Nor sacrifice at any price
My darling and my own!
Stork! on my roof-tree bide,
That, seeing thee anear,
I’ll thankful be God sent by thee
Me and my darling here!

“LOLLYBY, LOLLY, LOLLYBY”

Last night, whiles that the curfew bell ben ringing,
I heard a moder to her dearie singing,
“Lollyby, lolly, lollyby”;
And presently that chylde did cease hys weeping,
And on his moder’s breast did fall a-sleeping
To “lolly, lolly, lollyby.”

Faire ben the chylde unto his moder clinging,
But fairer yet the moder’s gentle singing--
“Lollyby, lolly, lollyby”;
And angels came and kisst the dearie smiling
In dreems while him hys moder ben beguiling
With “lolly, lolly, lollyby.”

Then to my harte saies I: “Oh, that thy beating
Colde be assuaged by some sweete voice repeating
‘Lollyby, lolly, lollyby’;
That like this lyttel chylde I, too, ben sleeping
With plaisaunt phantasies about me creeping,
To ‘lolly, lolly, lollyby’!”

Some time--mayhap when curfew bells are ringing--
A weary harte shall heare straunge voices singing
“Lollyby, lolly, lollyby”;
Some time, mayhap, with Chryst’s love round me streaming,
I shall be lulled into eternal dreeming,
With “lolly, lolly, lollyby.”