The Glugs of Gosh | Page 9

possible threads?That would lead to discover this versatile Glug?Who modelled a rhyme while he mended a mug.
With a pursing of lips and a shaking of heads,?They gave up the task and went home to their beds,
Where each lay awake while he tortured his brain?For a key to the riddle, but ever in vain . . .?Then, lo, at the Mayor's front door in the morn?A tinker called out, and a Movement was born.
"Kettles and pans! Kettles and pans!?Oh, the stars are the gods'; but the earth, it is man's.
But a fool is the man who has wants without end,?While the tinker's content with a kettle to mend.?For a tinker owns naught but the earth, which is man's.?Then, bring out your kettles! Ho, kettles and pans!"
From the mayoral bed with unmayoral cries?The magistrate sprang ere he'd opened his eyes.
"Hold him!" he yelled, as he bounced on the floor.?"Oh, who is this tinker that rhymes at my door??Go get me the name and the title of him 1"?They answered. "Be calm, sir. 'Tis no one but Sym.
'Tis Sym, the mad tinker, the son of old Joi,?Who ran from his home when a bit of a boy.
He went for a tramp, tho' 'tis common belief,?When folk were not looking he went for a thief;?Then went for a tinker, and rhymes as he goes.?Some say he's crazy, but nobody knows."
'Twas thus it began, the exalting of Sym,?And the mad Gluggish struggle that raged around him.
For the good Mayor seized him, and clothed him in silk,?And fed him on pumpkins and pasteurised milk,?And praised him in public, and coupled his name?With Gosh's vague prophet of archival fame.
The Press interviewed him a great many times,?And printed his portrait, and published his rhymes;
Till the King and Sir Stodge and the Swanks grew afraid?Of his fame 'mid the Glugs and the trouble it made.?For, wherever Sym went in the city of Gosh,?There were cheers for the tinker, and hoots for King Splosh.
His goings and comings were watched for and cheered;?And a crowd quickly gathered where'er he appeared.
All the folk flocked around him and shouted his praise;?For the Glugs followed fashion, and Sym was a craze.?They sued him for words, which they greeted with cheers,?For the way with a Glug is to tickle his ears.
"0, speak to us, Tinker! Your wisdom we crave!"?They'd cry when they saw him; then Sym would look grave,
And remark, with an air, "'Tis a very fine day."?"Now ain't he a marvel?" they'd shout. "Hip, Hooray!"?"To live," would Sym answer, "To live is to feel!"?"And ain't he a poet?" a fat Glug would squeal.
Sym had a quaint fancy in phrase and in text;?When he'd fed them with one they would howl for the next.
Thus he'd cry, "Love is love 1" and the welkin they'd lift With their shouts of surprise at his wonderful gift.?He would say "After life, then a Glug must meet death!"?And they'd clamour for more ere he took the next breath.
But Sym grew aweary of this sort of praise,?And he longed to be back with his out-o'-door days,
With his feet in the grass and his back to a tree,?Rhyming and tinkering, fameless and free.?He said so one day to the Mayor of Quog,?And declared he'd as lief live the life of a dog.
But the Mayor was vexed; for the Movement had grown,?And his dreams had of late soared as high as a throne.
"Have a care! What is written is written," said he.?"And the dullest Glug knows what is written must be.?'Tis the prophet of Gosh who has prophesied it;?And 'tis thus that 'tis written by him who so writ:
"'Lo, the Tinker of Gosh he shall make him three rhymes:?One on the errors and aims of his times,
One on the symptoms of sin that he sees,?And the third and the last on whatever he please.?And when the Glugs hear them and mark what they mean?The land shall be purged and the nation made clean."'
So Sym gave a promise to write then and there?Three rhymes to be read in the Great Market Square?To all Glugs assembled on Saturday week.?"And then," said the Mayor, "if still you must seek
To return to your tramping, well, just have your fling;?But I'll make you a marquis, or any old thing . . ."?Said Sym, "I shall tinker, and still be a king."
IX. THE RHYMES OF SYM
Nobody knew why it should be so;?Nobody knew or wanted to know.
It might have been checked had but someone dared?To trace its beginnings; but nobody cared.?But 'twas clear to the wise that the Glugs of those days?Were crazed beyond reason concerning a craze.
They would pass a thing by for a week or a year,?With an air apathetic, or maybe a sneer:
Some ev'ryday thing, like a crime or a creed,?A mode or a movement, and pay it small heed,?Till Somebody started to laud it