The men who don’t know to the root The joy of being swift of foot, Have never known divine and fresh The glory of the gift of flesh, Nor felt the feet exult, nor gone Along a dim road, on and on, Knowing again the bursting glows, The mating hare in April knows, Who tingles to the pads with mirth At being the swiftest thing on earth. O, if you want to know delight, Run naked in an autumn night, And laugh, as I laughed then, to find A running rabble drop behind, And whang, on every door you pass, Two copper nozzles, tipped with brass, And doubly whang at every turning, And yell, ’All hell’s let loose, and burning.’ I beat my brass and shouted fire At doors of parson, lawyer, squire, At all three doors I threshed and slammed And yelled aloud that they were damned. I clodded squire’s glass with turves Because he spring-gunned his preserves. Through parson’s glass my nozzle swishes Because he stood for loaves and fishes, But parson’s glass I spared a tittle. He give me an orange once when little, And he who gives a child a treat Makes joy-bells ring in Heaven’s street, And he who gives a child a home Builds palaces in Kingdom come, And she who gives a baby birth Brings Saviour Christ again to Earth, For life is joy, and mind is fruit, And body’s precious earth and root. But lawyer’s glass--well, never mind, Th’old Adam’s strong in me, I find. God pardon man, and may God’s son Forgive the evil things I’ve done. What more? By Dirty Lane I crept Back to the Lion, where I slept. The raging madness hot and floodin’ Boiled itself out and left me sudden, Left me worn out and sick and cold, Aching as though I’d all grown old; So there I lay, and there they found me On door-mat, with a curtain round me. Si took my heels and Jane my head And laughed, and carried me to bed. And from the neighbouring street they reskied My boots and trousers, coat and weskit; They bath-bricked both the nozzles bright To be mementoes of the night, And knowing what I should awake with They flannelled me a quart to slake with, And sat and shook till half-past two Expecting Police Inspector Drew. I woke and drank, and went to meat In clothes still dirty from the street. Down in the bar I heard ’em tell How someone rang the fire-bell, And how th’inspector’s search had thriven, And how five pounds reward was given. And Shepherd Boyce, of Marley, glad us By saying it was blokes from mad’us, Or two young rips lodged at the Prince Whom none had seen nor heard of since, Or that young blade from Worcester Walk (You know how country people talk).