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Departmental Ditties and Barrack Room Ballads. Rudyard KiplingЧитать онлайн книгу.

Departmental Ditties and Barrack Room Ballads - Rudyard Kipling


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None whole or clean,” we cry, “or free from stain

        Of favour.” Wait awhile, till we attain

          The Last Department where nor fraud nor fools,

        Nor grade nor greed, shall trouble us again.

        Fear, Favour, or Affection – what are these

        To the grim Head who claims our services?

          I never knew a wife or interest yet

        Delay that pukka step, miscalled “decease”;

        When leave, long overdue, none can deny;

        When idleness of all Eternity

          Becomes our furlough, and the marigold

        Our thriftless, bullion-minting Treasury

        Transferred to the Eternal Settlement,

        Each in his strait, wood-scantled office pent,

          No longer Brown reverses Smith’s appeals,

        Or Jones records his Minute of Dissent.

        And One, long since a pillar of the Court,

        As mud between the beams thereof is wrought;

          And One who wrote on phosphates for the crops

        Is subject-matter of his own Report.

        These be the glorious ends whereto we pass —

        Let Him who Is, go call on Him who Was;

          And He shall see the mallie steals the slab

        For currie-grinder, and for goats the grass.

        A breath of wind, a Border bullet’s flight,

        A draught of water, or a horse’s fright —

          The droning of the fat Sheristadar

        Ceases, the punkah stops, and falls the night

        For you or Me. Do those who live decline

        The step that offers, or their work resign?

          Trust me, Today’s Most Indispensables,

        Five hundred men can take your place or mine.

      BALLADS AND BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS

      THE BALLAD OF FISHER’S BOARDING-HOUSE

      That night, when through the mooring-chains

      The wide-eyed corpse rolled free,

      To blunder down by Garden Reach

      And rot at Kedgeree,

      The tale the Hughli told the shoal

      The lean shoal told to me.

        ‘T was Fultah Fisher’s boarding-house,

          Where sailor-men reside,

        And there were men of all the ports

          From Mississip to Clyde,

        And regally they spat and smoked,

          And fearsomely they lied.

        They lied about the purple Sea

          That gave them scanty bread,

        They lied about the Earth beneath,

          The Heavens overhead,

        For they had looked too often on

          Black rum when that was red.

        They told their tales of wreck and wrong,

          Of shame and lust and fraud,

        They backed their toughest statements with

          The Brimstone of the Lord,

        And crackling oaths went to and fro

          Across the fist-banged board.

        And there was Hans the blue-eyed Dane,

          Bull-throated, bare of arm,

        Who carried on his hairy chest

          The maid Ultruda’s charm —

        The little silver crucifix

          That keeps a man from harm.

        And there was Jake Without-the-Ears,

          And Pamba the Malay,

        And Carboy Gin the Guinea cook,

          And Luz from Vigo Bay,

        And Honest Jack who sold them slops

          And harvested their pay.

        And there was Salem Hardieker,

          A lean Bostonian he —

        Russ, German, English, Halfbreed, Finn,

          Yank, Dane, and Portuguee,

        At Fultah Fisher’s boarding-house

          They rested from the sea.

        Now Anne of Austria shared their drinks,

          Collinga knew her fame,

        From Tarnau in Galicia

          To Juan Bazaar she came,

        To eat the bread of infamy

          And take the wage of shame.

        She held a dozen men to heel —

          Rich spoil of war was hers,

        In hose and gown and ring and chain,

          From twenty mariners,

        And, by Port Law, that week, men called

          her Salem Hardieker’s.

        But seamen learnt – what landsmen know —

          That neither gifts nor gain

        Can hold a winking Light o’ Love

          Or Fancy’s flight restrain,

        When Anne of Austria rolled her eyes

          On Hans the blue-eyed Dane.

        Since Life is strife, and strife means knife,

          From Howrah to the Bay,

        And he may die before the dawn

          Who liquored out the day,

        In Fultah Fisher’s boarding-house

          We woo while yet we may.

        But cold was Hans the blue-eyed Dane,

          Bull-throated, bare of arm,

        And laughter shook the chest beneath

          The maid Ultruda’s charm —

        The little silver crucifix

          That keeps a man from harm.

        “You speak to Salem Hardieker;

          “You was his girl, I know.

        “I ship mineselfs tomorrow, see,

          “Und round the Skaw we go,

        “South, down the Cattegat, by Hjelm,

          “To Besser in Saro.”

        When love rejected turns to hate,

          All ill betide the man.

       


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