They passed. Beyond the town A farmer gave them leave to settle down In a green field beside the Oxford road. There the spent horses ceased to drag the load; The tent was pitched beneath a dropping sky, The green-striped tent with all its gear awry. The men drew close to grumble: in the van The showman parted from the wandering man. _The Showman:_ You see; denied a chance; denied bare bread. _King Cole:_ I know the stony road that artists tread. _The Showman:_ You take it very mildly, if you do. How would you act if this were done to you? _King Cole:_ Go to the Mayor. _The Showman:_ I am not that kind, I'll kneel to no Court prop with painted rind. You and your snivelling to them may go hang. I say: "God curse the Prince and all his gang." _The Wife:_ Ah, no, my dear, for Life hurts everyone, Without our cursing. Let the poor Prince be; We artist folk are happier folk than he, Hard as it is. _The Showman:_ I say: God let him see And taste and know this misery that he makes. He strains a poor man's spirit till it breaks, And then he hangs him, while a poor man's gift He leaves unhelped, to wither or to drift. Sergeants at city gates are all his care. We are but outcast artists in despair. They dress in scarlet and he gives them gold. _King Cole:_ Trust still to Life, the day is not yet old. _The Showman:_ By God! our lives are all we have to trust. _King Cole:_ Life changes every day and ever must. _The Showman:_ It has not changed with us, this season, yet. _King Cole:_ Life is as just as Death; Life pays its debt. _The Showman:_ What justice is there in our suffering so? _King Cole:_ This: that not knowing, we should try to know. _The Showman:_ Try. A sweet doctrine for a broken heart. _King Cole:_ The best (men say) in every manly part. _The Showman:_ Is it, by Heaven? I have tried it, I. I tell you, friend, your justice is a lie; Your comfort is a lie, your peace a fraud; Your trust a folly and your cheer a gaud. I know what men are, having gone these roads. Poor bankrupt devils, sweating under loads While others suck their blood and smile and smile. You be an artist on the roads a while, You'll know what justice comes with suffering then. _King Cole:_ Friend, I am one grown old with sorrowing men. _The Showman:_ The old are tamed, they have not blood to feel. _King Cole:_ They've blood to hurt, if not enough to heal. I have seen sorrow close and suffering close. I know their ways with men, if any knows. I know the harshness of the way they have To loose the base and prison up the brave. I know that some have found the depth they trod In deepest sorrow is the heart of God. Up on the bitter iron there is peace.