She spoke, to take him, seeing him a sheep, ’How beautiful you wrastled with the ram, It made me all go tremble just to peep, I am that fond of wrastling, that I am. Why, here’s your mother, too. Good-evening, ma’am. I was just telling Jim how well he done, How proud you must be of so fine a son.’ Old mother blinked, while Jimmy hardly knew Whether he knew the woman there or not; But well he knew, if not, he wanted to, Joy of her beauty ran in him so hot, Old trembling mother by him was forgot, While Anna searched the mother’s face, to know Whether she took her for a whore or no. The woman’s maxim, ’Win the woman first,’ Made her be gracious to the withered thing. ’This being in crowds do give one such a thirst, I wonder if they’ve tea going at "The King"? My throat’s that dry my very tongue do cling, Perhaps you’d take my arm, we’d wander up (If you’d agree) and try and get a cup. Come, ma’am, a cup of tea would do you good; There’s nothing like a nice hot cup of tea After the crowd and all the time you’ve stood; And "The King’s" strict, it isn’t like "The Key," Now, take my arm, my dear, and lean on me.’ And Jimmy’s mother, being nearly blind, Took Anna’s arm, and only thought her kind. So off they set, with Anna talking to her, How nice the tea would be after the crowd, And mother thinking half the time she knew her, And Jimmy’s heart’s blood ticking quick and loud, And Death beside him knitting at his shroud, And all the High Street babbling with the fair, And white October clouds in the blue air. So tea was made, and down they sat to drink; O the pale beauty sitting at the board! There is more death in women than we think, There is much danger in the soul adored, The white hands bring the poison and the cord; Death has a lodge in lips as red as cherries, Death has a mansion in the yew-tree berries. They sat there talking after tea was done, And Jimmy blushed at Anna’s sparkling looks, And Anna flattered mother on her son, Catching both fishes on her subtle hooks. With twilight, tea and talk in ingle-nooks, And music coming up from the dim street, Mother had never known a fair so sweet. Now cow-bells clink, for milking-time is come, The drovers stack the hurdles into carts, New masters drive the straying cattle home, Many a young calf from his mother parts, Hogs straggle back to sty by fits and starts; The farmers take a last glass at the inns, And now the frolic of the fair begins. All of the side shows of the fair are lighted, Flares and bright lights, and brassy cymbals clanging, ’Beginning now’ and ’Everyone’s invited,’ Shatter the pauses of the organ’s whanging, The Oldest Show on Earth and the Last Hanging, ’The Murder in the Red Barn,’ with real blood, The rifles crack, the Sally shy-sticks thud.