Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/505

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MY OLD HAT.

487

"Ten thousand thanks—how very few get
In time of danger
Such kind attentions from a stranger.
Assuredly that fellow's throat is
Doomed to a final drop at Newgate;
He knows too, the unconscionable elf,
That there's no soul at home except myself."
"Indeed!" replied the stranger, looking grave,
"Then he's a double knave.
He knows that rogues and thieves by scores
Nightly beset unguarded doors;
And see how easily might one
Of these domestic foes,
Even beneath your nose
Perform his knavish tricks,
Enter your room as I have done,
Blow out your candles—thus—and thus,
Pocket your silver candlesticks,
And walk off thus."

So said—so done—he made no more remark,
Nor waited for replies,
But marched off with his prize,
Leaving the gouty merchant in the dark.

My Old Hat.

I had a hat—it was not all a hat,
Part of the brim was gone—yet still I wore
It on, and people wondered as I passed.
Some turned to gaze—others just cast an eye
And soon withdrew it, as 'twere in contempt.
But still my hat, although so fashionless
In complement extern, had that within
Surpassing show—my head continued warm;
Being sheltered from the weather, spite of all
The want (as has been said before) of brim.

A change came o'er the colour of my hat.
That which was black grew brown—and then men stared
With both their eyes (they stared with one before).
The wonder now was twofold; and it seemed
Strange that a thing so torn and old should still
Be worn by one who might ——but let that pass!
I had my reasons, which might be revealed
But for some counter-reasons, far more strong,
Which tied my tongue to silence. Time passed on,