<h2> Old King Cole </h2>
<p>In Tilbury Town did Old King Cole<br/>
A wise old age anticipate,<br/>
Desiring, with his pipe and bowl,<br/>
No Khan's extravagant estate.<br/>
No crown annoyed his honest head,<br/>
No fiddlers three were called or needed;<br/>
For two disastrous heirs instead<br/>
Made music more than ever three did.<br/>
<br/>
Bereft of her with whom his life<br/>
Was harmony without a flaw,<br/>
He took no other for a wife,<br/>
Nor sighed for any that he saw;<br/>
And if he doubted his two sons,<br/>
And heirs, Alexis and Evander,<br/>
He might have been as doubtful once<br/>
Of Robert Burns and Alexander.<br/>
<br/>
Alexis, in his early youth,<br/>
Began to steal—from old and young.<br/>
Likewise Evander, and the truth<br/>
Was like a bad taste on his tongue.<br/>
Born thieves and liars, their affair<br/>
Seemed only to be tarred with evil—<br/>
The most insufferable pair<br/>
Of scamps that ever cheered the devil.<br/>
<br/>
The world went on, their fame went on,<br/>
And they went on—from bad to worse;<br/>
Till, goaded hot with nothing done,<br/>
And each accoutred with a curse,<br/>
The friends of Old King Cole, by twos,<br/>
And fours, and sevens, and elevens,<br/>
Pronounced unalterable views<br/>
Of doings that were not of heaven's.<br/>
<br/>
And having learned again whereby<br/>
Their baleful zeal had come about,<br/>
King Cole met many a wrathful eye<br/>
So kindly that its wrath went out—<br/>
Or partly out. Say what they would,<br/>
He seemed the more to court their candor;<br/>
But never told what kind of good<br/>
Was in Alexis and Evander.<br/>
<br/>
And Old King Cole, with many a puff<br/>
That haloed his urbanity,<br/>
Would smoke till he had smoked enough,<br/>
And listen most attentively.<br/>
He beamed as with an inward light<br/>
That had the Lord's assurance in it;<br/>
And once a man was there all night,<br/>
Expecting something every minute.<br/>
<br/>
But whether from too little thought,<br/>
Or too much fealty to the bowl,<br/>
A dim reward was all he got<br/>
For sitting up with Old King Cole.<br/>
"Though mine," the father mused aloud,<br/>
"Are not the sons I would have chosen,<br/>
Shall I, less evilly endowed,<br/>
By their infirmity be frozen?<br/>
<br/>
"They'll have a bad end, I'll agree,<br/>
But I was never born to groan;<br/>
For I can see what I can see,<br/>
And I'm accordingly alone.<br/>
With open heart and open door,<br/>
I love my friends, I like my neighbors;<br/>
But if I try to tell you more,<br/>
Your doubts will overmatch my labors.<br/>
<br/>
"This pipe would never make me calm,<br/>
This bowl my grief would never drown.<br/>
For grief like mine there is no balm<br/>
In Gilead, or in Tilbury Town.<br/>
And if I see what I can see,<br/>
I know not any way to blind it;<br/>
Nor more if any way may be<br/>
For you to grope or fly to find it.<br/>
<br/>
"There may be room for ruin yet,<br/>
And ashes for a wasted love;<br/>
Or, like One whom you may forget,<br/>
I may have meat you know not of.<br/>
And if I'd rather live than weep<br/>
Meanwhile, do you find that surprising?<br/>
Why, bless my soul, the man's asleep!<br/>
That's good. The sun will soon be rising."<br/></p>
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