Salt-Water Ballads

Salt-Water Ballads

by John Masefield

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Overview

Salt-Water Ballads by John Masefield

NOT of the princes and prelates with periwigged charioteers
Riding triumphantly laurelled to lap the fat of the years,-
Rather the scorned-the rejected-the men hemmed in with the spears;
The men of the tattered battalion which fights till it dies,
Dazed with the dust of the battle, the din and the cries,
The men with the broken heads and the blood running into their eyes.
Not the be-medalled Commander, beloved of the throne,
Riding cock-horse to parade when the bugles are blown,
But the lads who carried the koppie and cannot be known.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781717346759
Publisher: CreateSpace Publishing
Publication date: 09/11/2018
Pages: 66
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.14(d)

Read an Excerpt


BILL He lay dead on the cluttered deck and stared at the cold skies, With never a friend to mourn for him nor a hand to close his eyes: 'Bill, he's dead,' was all they said; 'he's dead, 'n' there he lies.' The mate came forrard at seven bells and spat across the rail: 'Just lash him up wi' some holystone in a clout o' rotten sail, 'N', rot ye, get a gait on ye, ye're slower'n a bloody snail!' When the rising moon was a copper disc and the sea was a strip of steel, We dumped him down to the swaying weeds ten fathom beneath the keel. 'It's rough about Bill,' the fo'c's'le said, 'we'll have to stand his wheel.' FEVER SHIP 15 FEVER SHIP There'll be no weepin' gells ashore when our ship sails, Nor no crews cheerin' us, standin' at the rails, 'N' no Blue Peter a-foul the royal stay, For we've the Yellow FeverHarry died to-day. It's cruel when a fo'c's'le gets the fever! 'N' Dick has got the fever-shakes, 'n' look what I was told (I went to get a sack for him to keep him from the cold): 'Sir, can I have a sack?' I says, 'for Dick 'e's fit to die.' 'Oh, sack be shot!' the skipper says, 'jest let the rotter lie!' It's cruel when a fo'c's'le gets the fever! It's a cruel port is Santos, and a hungry land, With rows o' graves already dug in yonder strip of sand, 'N' Dick is hollerin' up the hatch, 'e says 'e's goin' blue, His pore teeth are chattering, V what's a man to It's cruel when a fo'c's'le gets the fever! chapter{Section 4FEVER-CHILLS 17 FEVER-CHILLS He tottered out of the alleyway with cheeks the colour of paste, And shivered a spell and mopped his brow with a clout of cotton waste: 'I've a lick of fever-chills,' he said, ' 'n' my inside it's green, But I'd be as rightas rain,' he...

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