Town and Country
(A Moden Ecloque.)
URBANUS — STREPHON — DAMOETAS
URBANUS.
I sing the town —
STREPHON.
And I the country sing —
The perfect paradise of bicycling!
The country where the lanes are always green —
URBANUS.
And there are no policemen to be seen!
But, Strephon, if young and native pride
Still finds its pleasure in the country side,
Come, tune your oaten pipe, my foster-brother:
We'll sing in antiphones to one another,
Praising the sport wherein our profit lies,
And old Damoetas shall award the prize.
This brand-new Humber shall the guerdon be —
'Twas lately raffled for a charity —
Let him who praiseth best the cycle win,
And you, the elder poet, shall begin!
STREPHON.
I sing the country, where the shady way
Resounds melodious with the thrush's lay,
Where from the morning to the evening dusk
The lanes are sweet with eglantine and musk,
Where nature follows her instinctive plan,
Without the aid of interfering Man.
URBANUS.
And mine the town, where all the stern day long
I hear humanity's incessant song,
Where thro' the deep pulsation of the streets
The heart of an achieving manhood beats.
Where stones and briars never find a place,
And even wood accelerates the pace:
The circling wheel runs regular and true,
And work is light, and punctures very few.
STREPHON.
I know that " town " — its rude and deafening roar —
Hansom behind and omnibus before, —
Where any momentary indecision
May land you in a perilous collision!
URBANUS.
And I your country; where your twinkling lamp
Tempts from his lair the unrelenting tramp,
To dash his cudgel on your faltering wheel,
To threaten, to intimidate, and steal,
Then vanish in the thicket dim and grey,
And leave you spoiled and bleeding by the way.
STREPHON.
Vain stories all! Let him believe who will;
And yet the country has my suffrage still,
When the homefaring toiler, glad and bright,
Touches his cap, and wishes you " Good-night! "
Where hearts are simple as the day is long,
And nobody directs the rider wrong.
URBANUS.
Where every dreary dullard in the land
Talks in a tongue you cannot understand;
Where sleepy will and ignorant respect
Grow vapid in unmeaning dialect!
STREPHON.
To ears unsympathetic all tongues cloy:
(Recall the Hellenes and their ╬Æ╬▒¤ü╬Æ╬▒¤ü╬┐╬╣ )
To me the Cockney lingo seems as bad,
" Full of strange oaths, " and bellowed by a cad!
But leave the language, and return again
To the secluded quiet of the lane,
Where you may pedal —
URBANUS.
Thro' a cloud of dust,
A warm of flies that grows with every gust,
Till under Pharaoh's plague your spirit smarts,
Crying for Local Boards and water-carts!
STREPHON.
Not in my country! For the shady trees
Do overarch an avenue of ease;
The cool rich sward refreshes burning feet,
And all the world of green rebukes the heat.
URBANUS.
Until the sudden thunder echoes loud,
And livid lightnings answer from the cloud!
Then you will shun the perilous oak-tree —
Conductor of the electricity: —
While I can house my wheel in Hyde Park Mews,
Rest in my club, and read the morning news.
STREPHON.
Perfidious Cockney! wedded willy-nilly
To artificial charms of Piccadilly;
Not yours the passions of a manlier sort —
The risks, the fears, the escapades of sport;
You were as well, with Jehu for a guide,
To hire a hansom to the riverside,
Plough up the path from Hampton Court to Kew,
And boast of feats you watch another do.
But be mine, when twilight settles down,
To swing into the sleepy country-town,
Seek out the tavern —
URBANUS.
Where, no doubt, you'll find
Refreshment suited to a sportsman's mind, —
A well-bared bone, drink muddy at the lees,
And nothing fit to eat but bread and cheese!
While I —
STREPHON.
Oh, yes; I know your fancy well,
The Cafe Royal, the Savoy Hotel:
The luscious pate and the English pine —
URBANUS.
And what of them? At least a man must dine.
STREPHON.
Yes; but, my friend, your sybaritic creed
Would fain imply a man must overfeed!
URBANUS.
Not so!
STREPHON.
You lie!
URBANUS.
Silence, impetuous youth!
Ill-temper is not wont to speak the truth.
STREPHON.
See, I am calm —
URBANUS.
Rage mantles all your brow —
STREPHON.
Damoetas!
URBANUS.
Come, Damoetas; judgment, now!
DAMOETAS.
First peace, then judgment. Let old Arbitration
Free this your argument from indignation.
Well have you praised where inclination lies,
Yet neither poet has deserved the prize.
He argues best who best his temper keeps,
And both your faces are as black as sweeps'!
Your grey Damoetas is not yet so grey
But he can ride throughout a summer day.
Damoetas, too, impartial, nothing loth,
Knows town and country, and enjoys them both.
He wins the guerdon which he merits well!
Behold, how he bestrides a bicycle!
See, how he pedals merrily away:
Ill-tempered bards, he wishes you " Good-day! "
URBANUS — STREPHON — DAMOETAS
URBANUS.
I sing the town —
STREPHON.
And I the country sing —
The perfect paradise of bicycling!
The country where the lanes are always green —
URBANUS.
And there are no policemen to be seen!
But, Strephon, if young and native pride
Still finds its pleasure in the country side,
Come, tune your oaten pipe, my foster-brother:
We'll sing in antiphones to one another,
Praising the sport wherein our profit lies,
And old Damoetas shall award the prize.
This brand-new Humber shall the guerdon be —
'Twas lately raffled for a charity —
Let him who praiseth best the cycle win,
And you, the elder poet, shall begin!
STREPHON.
I sing the country, where the shady way
Resounds melodious with the thrush's lay,
Where from the morning to the evening dusk
The lanes are sweet with eglantine and musk,
Where nature follows her instinctive plan,
Without the aid of interfering Man.
URBANUS.
And mine the town, where all the stern day long
I hear humanity's incessant song,
Where thro' the deep pulsation of the streets
The heart of an achieving manhood beats.
Where stones and briars never find a place,
And even wood accelerates the pace:
The circling wheel runs regular and true,
And work is light, and punctures very few.
STREPHON.
I know that " town " — its rude and deafening roar —
Hansom behind and omnibus before, —
Where any momentary indecision
May land you in a perilous collision!
URBANUS.
And I your country; where your twinkling lamp
Tempts from his lair the unrelenting tramp,
To dash his cudgel on your faltering wheel,
To threaten, to intimidate, and steal,
Then vanish in the thicket dim and grey,
And leave you spoiled and bleeding by the way.
STREPHON.
Vain stories all! Let him believe who will;
And yet the country has my suffrage still,
When the homefaring toiler, glad and bright,
Touches his cap, and wishes you " Good-night! "
Where hearts are simple as the day is long,
And nobody directs the rider wrong.
URBANUS.
Where every dreary dullard in the land
Talks in a tongue you cannot understand;
Where sleepy will and ignorant respect
Grow vapid in unmeaning dialect!
STREPHON.
To ears unsympathetic all tongues cloy:
(Recall the Hellenes and their ╬Æ╬▒¤ü╬Æ╬▒¤ü╬┐╬╣ )
To me the Cockney lingo seems as bad,
" Full of strange oaths, " and bellowed by a cad!
But leave the language, and return again
To the secluded quiet of the lane,
Where you may pedal —
URBANUS.
Thro' a cloud of dust,
A warm of flies that grows with every gust,
Till under Pharaoh's plague your spirit smarts,
Crying for Local Boards and water-carts!
STREPHON.
Not in my country! For the shady trees
Do overarch an avenue of ease;
The cool rich sward refreshes burning feet,
And all the world of green rebukes the heat.
URBANUS.
Until the sudden thunder echoes loud,
And livid lightnings answer from the cloud!
Then you will shun the perilous oak-tree —
Conductor of the electricity: —
While I can house my wheel in Hyde Park Mews,
Rest in my club, and read the morning news.
STREPHON.
Perfidious Cockney! wedded willy-nilly
To artificial charms of Piccadilly;
Not yours the passions of a manlier sort —
The risks, the fears, the escapades of sport;
You were as well, with Jehu for a guide,
To hire a hansom to the riverside,
Plough up the path from Hampton Court to Kew,
And boast of feats you watch another do.
But be mine, when twilight settles down,
To swing into the sleepy country-town,
Seek out the tavern —
URBANUS.
Where, no doubt, you'll find
Refreshment suited to a sportsman's mind, —
A well-bared bone, drink muddy at the lees,
And nothing fit to eat but bread and cheese!
While I —
STREPHON.
Oh, yes; I know your fancy well,
The Cafe Royal, the Savoy Hotel:
The luscious pate and the English pine —
URBANUS.
And what of them? At least a man must dine.
STREPHON.
Yes; but, my friend, your sybaritic creed
Would fain imply a man must overfeed!
URBANUS.
Not so!
STREPHON.
You lie!
URBANUS.
Silence, impetuous youth!
Ill-temper is not wont to speak the truth.
STREPHON.
See, I am calm —
URBANUS.
Rage mantles all your brow —
STREPHON.
Damoetas!
URBANUS.
Come, Damoetas; judgment, now!
DAMOETAS.
First peace, then judgment. Let old Arbitration
Free this your argument from indignation.
Well have you praised where inclination lies,
Yet neither poet has deserved the prize.
He argues best who best his temper keeps,
And both your faces are as black as sweeps'!
Your grey Damoetas is not yet so grey
But he can ride throughout a summer day.
Damoetas, too, impartial, nothing loth,
Knows town and country, and enjoys them both.
He wins the guerdon which he merits well!
Behold, how he bestrides a bicycle!
See, how he pedals merrily away:
Ill-tempered bards, he wishes you " Good-day! "
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