We all went quiet down the Scallenge Lest Police Inspector Drew should challenge. But ’Spector Drew was sleeping sweet, His head upon a charges sheet, Under the gas-jet flaring full, Snorting and snoring like a bull, His bull cheeks puffed, his bull lips blowing, His ugly yellow front teeth showing. Just as we peeped we saw him fumble And scratch his head, and shift, and mumble. Down in the lane so thin and dark The tan-yards stank of bitter bark, The curate’s pigeons gave a flutter, A cat went courting down the gutter, And none else stirred a foot or feather. The houses put their heads together, Talking, perhaps, so dark and sly, Of all the folk they’d seen go by, Children, and men and women, merry all, Who’d some day pass that way to burial. It was all dark, but at the turning The Lion had a window burning. So in we went and up the stairs, Treading as still as cats and hares. The way the stairs creaked made you wonder If dead men’s bones were hidden under. At head of stairs upon the landing A woman with a lamp was standing; She greet each gent at head of stairs With ’Step in, gents, and take your chairs. The punch’ll come when kettle bubble, But don’t make noise or there’ll be trouble.’ ’Twas Doxy Jane, a bouncing girl With eyes all sparks and hair all curl, And cheeks all red and lips all coal, And thirst for men instead of soul. She’s trod her pathway to the fire. Old Rivers had his nephew by her. I step aside from Tom and Jimmy To find if she’d a kiss to gimme. I blew out lamp ’fore she could speak. She said, ’If you ain’t got a cheek,’ And then beside me in the dim, ’Did he beat you or you beat him?’ ’Why, I beat him’ (though that was wrong). She said, ’You must be turble strong. I’d be afraid you’d beat me, too.’ ’You’d not,’ I said, ’I wouldn’t do.’ ’Never?’ ’No, never.’ ’Never?’ ’No.’ ’O Saul. Here’s missus. Let me go.’ It wasn’t missus, so I didn’t, Whether I mid do or I midn’t, Until she’d promised we should meet Next evening, six, at top of street, When we could have a quiet talk On that low wall up Worcester Walk. And while we whispered there together I give her silver for a feather And felt a drunkenness like wine And shut out Christ in husks and swine. I felt the dart strike through my liver. God punish me for’t and forgive her. Each one could be a Jesus mild, Each one has been a little child, A little child with laughing look, A lovely white unwritten book; A book that God will take, my friend, As each goes out at journey’s end. The Lord who gave us Earth and Heaven Takes that as thanks for all He’s given. The book he lent is given back All blotted red and smutted black.