With no heart for fight, We take refuge in flight, But fire as we run, our retreat to defend, Until our stern-chasers Cut up her fore-braces, And she flies off the wind from us poor honest men! Twix’ the Forties and Fifties, South-eastward the drift is, And so, when we think we are making Land’s End, Alas, it is Ushant With half the King’s Navy, Blockading French ports against poor honest men! But they may not quit station (Which is our salvation), So swiftly we stand to the Nor’ard again; And finding the tail of A homeward-bound convoy, We slip past the Scillies like poor honest men. ‘Twix’ the Lizard and Dover, We hand our stuff over, Though I may not inform how we do it, nor when; But a light on each quarter Low down on the water Is well understanded by poor honest men. Even then we have dangers From meddlesome strangers, Who spy on our business and are not content To take a smooth answer, Except with a handspike... And they say they are murdered by poor honest men! To be drowned or be shot Is our natural lot, Why should we, moreover, be hanged in the end-- After all our great pains For to dangle in chains, As though we were smugglers, not poor honest men? THE CONVERSION OF ST WILFRID Eddi’s Service Eddi, priest of St Wilfrid In the chapel at Manhood End, Ordered a midnight service For such as cared to attend. But the Saxons were keeping Christmas, And the night was stormy as well. Nobody came to service Though Eddi rang the bell. ‘Wicked weather for walking,’ Said Eddi of Manhood End. ‘But I must go on with the service For such as care to attend.’ The altar candles were lighted,-- An old marsh donkey came, Bold as a guest invited, And stared at the guttering flame. The storm beat on at the windows, The water splashed on the floor, And a wet yoke-weary bullock Pushed in through the open door. ‘How do I know what is greatest, How do I know what is least? That is My Father’s business,’ Said Eddi, Wilfrid’s priest. ‘But, three are gathered together-- Listen to me and attend. I bring good news, my brethren!’ Said Eddi, of Manhood End. And he told the Ox of a manger And a stall in Bethlehem, And he spoke to the Ass of a Rider That rode to jerusalem. They steamed and dripped in the chancel, They listened and never stirred, While, just as though they were Bishops, Eddi preached them The Word. Till the gale blew off on the marshes And the windows showed the day, And the Ox and the Ass together Wheeled and clattered away. And when the Saxons mocked him, Said Eddi of Manhood End, ‘I dare not shut His chapel On such as care to attend.’