Song Book of Quong Lee of Limehouse | Page 8

would think thus to see the swinging arms,?The slow protuberant belly sheathed in a vest of scarlet,?And the gold chain of Albert, the great Consort;?To see the haughty head, the portly mien,?The solemn gait, and the complacency with which you view the world.
Don't interrupt! I only wished to tell you?That your claim to the excessive esteem of your neighbours?Is wholly without foundation.?Do please remember, Mister, that that scarlet belly?Was acquired by the labours of little children?Whom you employ to stick labels on bottles.
Upstairs
I have lifted her over my threshold to-night.?Many moons have risen and set since she received my napi;?But now she is here and has entered my upper room,?Where is a shrine for the joss of happiness,?And a soft couch and delicate hanging,?And fine things for fine fingers to handle,?And shaded lanterns and a guitar and my machine-that-sings.
There are ornaments of jade and lacquer,?And the bamboo pipe and the hap-heem that I have laid aside, And the written leaves containing my verses.?But there are no writing tables, no ink and no brushes.?For now my verses will be written upon her brow.
Footsteps
As I lie on my pallet at night?I hear from the street the sound of passing footsteps;?And I can sort and name these passing footsteps.?There are the truculent steps of the seeker after trouble,?There are the fearful feet of those who are not at ease?In the implacable streets.?There are the fugitive feet of crime,?And the solemn reassuring tread of big policemen;?And the interrupted steps of the revellers,?And the fleet feet of those who have purchased trouble.
But those that tread most heavily on my heart?Are the light and lingering footsteps of tired young women.
Making a Feast
Ho! Friends and enemies of Pennyfields,?A feast is spread, and you are all invited.?Many tides have risen and retired?Since I left the fervid skies of my own country?For the thin skies and leaden streets of the West.?Long have I sojourned, seeking my desire,?Keeping my shop, and looking always with long eyes?At others' guesting-tables, at whose top sat love.
>From my cold corner?I have watched their feast of fondness, and my heart has flown away, And has beaten like a lost bird at their windows,?And none would let him in.
But now, O honourables,?My window is alight, my room is warmed,?The table is set and the places are laid, and Love waits to greet you.
The Case of Ho Ling
Truly the ways of mandarins are inscrutable.?My estimable and upright friend, Ho Ling,?Long had desired to return to his own country.?He bore himself in Limehouse without reproach,?A reputable stranger, mild of manner and gentle of address. Against him none could bring a charge or speak a word of upbraiding. He conformed in all ways to the laws of correct conduct.
Yet when he sought assistance to return to his own country, Being without means,?And hung at the ear of notable men who could help him,?They refused to hear him,?And would in no way help him to go where his heart was set. Even the charitable ones regretted?That his case was not for them.
Wherefore my friend forsook his quiet and regular ways,?And went about as one possessed by thunder and fire,?Stormily; doing many things of a reprehensible character,?Committing grave misdemeanours in the public streets,?And following evil ways in a manner to attract attention.
Whereupon,?The lords of this country placed him upon a boat,?And commanded that he should be carried, at their own cost, To his own country, whither he most desired to go.
An Upright Man
The grave and thin-faced one who keeps the Bespoke Tailor's Shop, And subjects his child to treatment of a most disagreeable nature, Never goes into the Blue Lantern,?Never takes pellet of li-un or nut of areca,?Or communes with Black Smoke,?Or loses money at puckapoo,?Or makes public outcry or gesture?Expressive of delight in his friends,?Or does foolish and unworthy things,?Or makes exchange of hats with friends.
He has no friends, for he has no weaknesses.?While others fall to the simple follies of humanity?He walks ever upright and self-contained, devout and dignified, And ill-treats his child at night.
Breaking-Point
Many heavy blows has this patient person's back received,?These many years.?He has lost friends and money;?He has lost his own country;?His well-framed enterprises have gone awry.?And his heart has gone hungry these many years for love.
All these things he has suffered without murmur.?One thing alone has driven him to utter piercing cries,?And make gestures expressive of volcano in eruption:?And that is the bootmender across the road?Who sings hymns to himself in the evening.
For that is true that the sage has spoken:?That it is the smell of gin-and-onions about the secretary?Which drives his master, who long has suffered gin-and-cloves, To the breaking-point of inexpressible exasperation.
An English Gentleman
I determined yesterday to become English gentleman;?And I have this morning bought a bowler hat.?I have bought brown boots and a suit of rare blue serge,?Which the affable one who