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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508711" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Black Sheep</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;The aristocratic ne'er-do-well in Canada frequently finds his way<br>into the ranks of the Royal North-West Mounted Police.&quot; -- Extract.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Hark to the ewe that bore him:<br> &quot;What has muddied the strain?<br> Never his brothers before him<br> Showed the hint of a stain.&quot;<br> Hark to the tups and wethers;<br> Hark to the old gray ram:<br> &quot;We're all of us white, but he's black as night,<br> And he'll never be worth a damn.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'm up on the bally wood-pile at the back of the barracks yard;<br>&quot;A damned disgrace to the force, sir&quot;, with a comrade standing guard;<br>Making the bluff I'm busy, doing my six months hard.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;Six months hard and dismissed, sir.&quot; Isn't that rather hell?<br>And all because of the liquor laws and the wiles of a native belle--<br>Some &quot;hooch&quot; I gave to a siwash brave who swore that he wouldn't tell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At least they say that I did it. It's so in the town report.<br>All that I can recall is a night of revel and sport,<br>When I woke with a &quot;head&quot; in the guard-room, and they dragged me sick into court.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the O. C. said: &quot;You are guilty&quot;, and I said never a word;<br>For, hang it, you see I couldn't--I didn't know what had occurred,<br>And, under the circumstances, denial would be absurd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the one that cooked my bacon was Grubbe, of the City Patrol.<br>He fagged for my room at Eton, and didn't I devil his soul!<br>And now he is getting even, landing me down in the hole.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Plugging away on the wood-pile; doing chores round the square.<br>There goes an officer's lady--gives me a haughty stare--<br>Me that's an earl's own nephew--that is the hardest to bear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To think of the poor old mater awaiting her prodigal son.<br>Tho' I broke her heart with my folly, I was always the white-haired one.<br>(That fatted calf that they're cooking will surely be overdone.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'll go back and yarn to the Bishop; I'll dance with the village belle;<br>I'll hand round tea to the ladies, and everything will be well.<br>Where I have been won't matter; what I have seen I won't tell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'll soar to their ken like a comet. They'll see me with never a stain;<br>But will they reform me? --far from it. We pay for our pleasure with pain;<br>But the dog will return to his vomit, the hog to his wallow again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I've chewed on the rind of creation, and bitter I've tasted the same;<br>Stacked up against hell and damnation, I've managed to stay in the game;<br>I've had my moments of sorrow; I've had my seasons of shame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That's past; when one's nature's a cracked one, it's too jolly hard to mend.<br>So long as the road is level, so long as I've cash to spend.<br>I'm bound to go to the devil, and it's all the same in the end.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The bugle is sounding for stables; the men troop off through the gloom;<br>An orderly laying the tables sings in the bright mess-room.<br>(I'll wash in the prison bucket, and brush with the prison broom.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I'll lie in my cell and listen; I'll wish that I couldn't hear<br>The laugh and the chaff of the fellows swigging the canteen beer;<br>The nasal tone of the gramophone playing &quot;The Bandolier&quot;.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And it seems to me, though it's misty, that night of the flowing bowl,<br>That the man who potlatched the whiskey and landed me into the hole<br>Was Grubble, that unmerciful bounder, Grubble, of the City Patrol.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</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=508711" data-title="The Black Sheep de Robert William Service" data-description="&quot;The aristocratic ne'er-do-well in Canada frequently finds his way
into the ranks of the Royal North-West Mounted Police.&quot; -- Extract.

 Hark to the ewe that bore him:
 &quot;What has muddied the strain?
 Never his brothers before him
 S..."></div>
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