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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419492" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Cellar Door</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">By the old tavern door on the causey there lay<br>A hogshead of stingo just rolled from a dray,<br>And there stood the blacksmith awaiting a drop<br>As dry as the cinders that lay in his shop;<br>And there stood the cobbler as dry as a bun,<br>Almost crackt like a bucket when left in the sun.<br>He'd whetted his knife upon pendil and hone<br>Till he'd not got a spittle to moisten the stone;<br>So ere he could work--though he'd lost the whole day--<br>He must wait the new broach and bemoisten his clay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The cellar was empty, each barrel was drained<br>To its dregs--and Sir John like a rebel remained<br>In the street--for removal too powerful and large<br>For two or three topers to take into charge.<br>Odd zooks, said a gipsey, with bellows to mend,<br>Had I strength I would just be for helping a friend<br>To walk on his legs: but a child in the street<br>Had as much power as he to put John on his feet.<br>Then up came the blacksmith: Sir Barley, said he,<br>I should just like to storm your old tower for a spree;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And my strength for your strength and bar your renown<br>I'd soon try your spirit by cracking your crown.<br>And the cobbler he tuckt up his apron and spit<br>In his hands for a burster--but devil a bit<br>Would he move--so as yet they made nothing of land;<br>For there lay the knight like a whale in the sand.<br>Said the tinker: If I could but drink of his vein<br>I should just be as strong and as stubborn again.<br>Push along, said the toper, the cellar's adry:<br>There's nothing to moisten the mouth of a fly.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Says the host, We shall burn out with thirst, he's so big.<br>There's a cag of small swipes half as sour as a wig.<br>In such like extremes, why, extremes will come pat;<br>So let's go and wet all our whistles with that.<br>Says the gipsey, May I never bottom a chair<br>If I drink of small swipes while Sir John's lying there.<br>And the blacksmith he threw off his apron and swore<br>Small swipes should bemoisten his gullet no more:<br>Let it out on the floor for the dry cock-a-roach--<br>And he held up his hammer with threatens to broach</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sir John in his castle without leave or law<br>And suck out his blood with a reed or a straw<br>Ere he'd soak at the swipes--and he turned him to start,<br>Till the host for high treason came down a full quart.<br>Just then passed the dandy and turned up his nose:<br>They'd fain have him shove, but he looked at his clothes<br>And nipt his nose closer and twirled his stick round<br>And simpered, Tis nuisance to lie on the ground.<br>But Bacchus, he laughed from the old tavern sign,<br>Saying, Go on, thou shadow, and let the sun shine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then again they all tried, and the tinker he swore<br>That the hogshead had grown twice as heavy or more.<br>Nay nay, said the toper, and reeled as he spoke,<br>We're all getting weak, that's the end of the joke.<br>The ploughman came up and cut short his old tune,<br>Hallooed 'woi' to his horses and though it was June<br>Said he'd help them an hour ere he'd keep them adry;<br>Well done, said the blacksmith with hopes running high;<br>He moves, and, by jingo, success to the plough!<br>Aye aye, said the cobbler, we'll conquer him now.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The hogshead rolled forward, the toper fell back,<br>And the host laughed aloud as his sides they would crack<br>To see the old tinker's toil make such a gap<br>In his coat as to rend it from collar to flap.<br>But the tinker he grumbled and cried Fiddle-dee!<br>This garment hath been an old tenant with me;<br>And a needle and thread with a little good skill<br>When I've leisure will make it stand more weathers still.<br>Then crack went his breeks from the hip to the knee<br>With his thrusting--no matter; for nothing cared he.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So long as Sir John rolled along to the door,<br>He's a chip of our block, said the blacksmith, and swore;<br>And as sure as I live to drive nails in a shoe<br>He shall have at my cost a full pitcher or two.<br>And the toper he hiccuped--which hindered an oath--<br>So long as he'd credit, he'd pitcher them both.<br>But the host stopt to hint when he'd ordered the dray<br>Sir Barleycorn's order was purchase and pay.<br>And now the old knight is imprisoned and ta'en<br>To waste in the tavern man's cellar again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now, said the blacksmith, let forfeits come first<br>For the insult swipes offered, or his hoops I will burst.<br>Here it is, my old hearties--Then drink your thirst full,<br>Said the host, for the stingo is worth a strong pull.<br>Never fear for your legs if they're broken to-day;<br>Winds only blow straws, dust, and feathers away.<br>But the cask that is full, like a giant he lies,<br>And giants alone can his spirits capsize.<br>If he lies in the path, though a king's coming bye,<br>John Barleycorn's mighty and there he will lie.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then the toper sat down with a hiccup and felt<br>If he'd still an odd coin in his pocket to melt,<br>And he made a wry face, for his pocket was bare.<br>--But he laughed and danced up, What, old boy, are you there?<br>When he felt that a stiver had got to his knee<br>Through a hole in his fob, and right happy was he.<br>Says the tinker, I've brawled till no breath I have got<br>And not met with twopence to purchase a pot.<br>Says the toper, I've powder to charge a long gun,<br>And a stiver I've found when I thought I'd got none;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So helping a thirsty old friend in his need<br>Is my duty--take heart, thou art welcome indeed.<br>Then the smith with his tools in Sir John made a breach,<br>And the toper he hiccuped and ended his speech;<br>And pulled at the quart, till the snob he declared<br>When he went to drink next that the bottom was bared.<br>No matter for that, said the toper, and grinned;<br>I had but a soak and neer rested for wind.<br>That's the law, said the smith, with a look rather vexed,<br>But the quart was a forfeit; so pay for the next.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus they talked of their skill and their labour till noon<br>When the sober man's toil was exactly half done,<br>And there the plough lay--people hardly could pass<br>And the horses let loose polished up the short grass<br>And browsed on the bottle of flags lying there,<br>By the gipsey's old budget, for mending a chair.<br>The miller's horse tied to the old smithy door<br>Stood stamping his feet, by the flies bitten sore,<br>Awaiting the smith as he wanted a shoe;<br>And he stampt till another fell off and made two:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Till the miller, expecting that all would get loose,<br>Went to seek him and cursed him outright for a goose;<br>But he dipt his dry beak in the mug once or twice<br>And forgot all his passion and toil in a trice.<br>And the flybitten horse at the old smithy post<br>Might stamp till his shoes and his legs they were lost.<br>He sung his old songs and forgot his old mill--<br>Blow winds high or low, she might rest her at will.<br>And the cobbler, in spite of his bustle for pelf,<br>Left the shop all the day to take care of itself.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the toper who carried his house on his head,<br>No wife to be teazing, no bairns to be fed,<br>Would sit out the week or the month or the year<br>Or a life-time so long as he'd credit for beer.<br>The ploughman he talked of his skill as divine,<br>How he could plough thurrows as straight as a line;<br>And the blacksmith he swore, had he but the command,<br>He could shoe the king's hunter the best in the land;<br>And the cobbler declared, was his skill but once seen,<br>He should soon get an order for shoes from the queen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the tinker he swore he could beat them all three,<br>For gi' me a pair of old bellows, says he,<br>And I'll make them roar out like the wind in a storm<br>And make them blow fire out of coal hardly warm.<br>The toper said nothing but wished the quart full<br>And swore he could toss it all off at a pull.<br>Have one, said the tinker; but wit was away,<br>When the bet was to bind him he'd nothing to pay.<br>And thus in the face of life's sun-and-shower weather<br>They drank, bragged, and sung, and got merry together.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The sun he went down--the last gleam from his brow<br>Flung a smile of repose on the holiday plough;<br>The glooms they approached, and the dews like a rain<br>Fell thick and hung pearls on the old sorrel mane<br>Of the horse that the miller had brought to be shod,<br>And the morning awoke, saw a sight rather odd--<br>For a bit of the halter still hung at the door,<br>Bit through by the horse now at feed on the moor;<br>And the old tinker's budget lay still in the weather,<br>While all kept on singing and drinking together.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Clare">John Clare</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=419492" data-title="The Cellar Door de John Clare" data-description="By the old tavern door on the causey there lay
A hogshead of stingo just rolled from a dray,
And there stood the blacksmith awaiting a drop
As dry as the cinders that lay in his shop;
And there stood the cobbler as dry as a bun,
Almost crackt like..."></div>
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