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diff --git a/2161.txt b/2161.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d17b8e9 --- /dev/null +++ b/2161.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1380 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Song Book of Quong Lee of Limehouse, by Thomas Burke + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Song Book of Quong Lee of Limehouse + +Author: Thomas Burke + +Posting Date: October 25, 2008 [EBook #2161] +Release Date: April, 2000 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONG BOOK OF QUONG LEE *** + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +The Song Book of Quong Lee + + +by + +Thomas Burke + + + +CONTENTS + + Buying and Selling + The Power of Music + The Lamplighter + In Reply to an Invitation + A Night-Piece + A Smile Given In Passing + Of a National Cash Register + Under a Shining Window + Exchange of Compliments + A Song of Little Girls + Of Shop Windows + At the Feast of Lanterns + One Service Breeds Another + An Offer of a Lodging + Of Two Dwellings + Concerning English Gambling + Of Politicians + Of the Great White War + At the Time of Clear Weather + Parent and Child + Of Worship and Conduct + Going to Market + A Portrait + On a Saying of Mencius + Dockside Noises + Reproof and Approbation + The Feast of Go Nien + Directions for Making Tea + Of Inaccessible Beauty + Night and Day + Of a Night in War-Time + A Love Lesson + A Rebuke + Upstairs + Footsteps + Making a Feast + The Case of Ho Ling + An Upright Man + Breaking-Point + An English Gentleman + + + + + Buying and Selling + + Throughout the day I sit behind the counter of my shop + And the odours of my country are all about me-- + Areca nut, and betel leaf, and manioc, + Lychee and suey sen, + Li-un and dried seaweed, + Tchah and sam-shu; + And these carry my mind to half-forgotten days + When tales were plentiful and care was hard to hold. + + All day I sell for trifling sums the wares of my own land, + And buy for many cash such things as people wish to sell, + That I may sell them again to others, + With some profit to myself. + + One night a white-skinned damsel came to me + And offered, with fair words, something she wished to sell. + + Now if I desire a jacket I can buy it with coin, + Or barter for it something of my stock. + If I desire rice-spirit, that, too, I can buy; + And elegant entertainments and delights are all to be had for cash. + + But there is one good thing above all precious, + That no man may buy. + And though I buy readily most things that I desire, + This thing that the white maid offered at my own price + I would not buy. + + + + The Power of Music + + In the little room behind my shop + I refresh myself of an evening with my machine-that-sings. + + Two songs has my machine-that-sings: + And these are 'Hitchy Koo' and 'We don't want to lose you.' + + When, in the evening, a friend honours me with a visit, + I engage his ears with the air of 'Hitchy Koo'; + But when I am afflicted with a visit + From those who fill me with a spirit of no-satisfaction, + I command my machine-that-sings + To render the music of 'We don't want to lose you.' + + The noise that at this moment greets the ear + Of the elegant visitor to this despicable hovel + Is the incomparable music of 'Hitchy Koo'; + And the price of this person's tea, mister, + Is but a paltry six shillings the pound. + + + + The Lamplighter + + The dark days now begin, when in afternoon + The Great Night Lantern makes a razor-edge + Of black and white in the streets. + And one comes, called the Lamplighter, + And the straight stiff lamps of these stiff London streets, + At his quick touch burst into light. + + At this shy hour + I see from my unshaded window + Bright girls, hair flowing, go by with shuttered faces, + Holding close captive their warm insurgent bosoms. + And then, at the corner, + Some slender lad of bold and upright carriage + Greets them, and the shuttered lanterns of their faces + Burst with light at the touch of the lamplighter. + + Oh, kind ingenious lamplighter, + Will you please step this way? + + + + In Reply to an Invitation + + Don't think of me as one of no courtesy + O elegant and refined foreign one, + If I do not accept your high-minded invitation + To drink rice-spirit with you + At the little place called The Blue Lantern, near Pennyfields. + Please don't regard me as lacking in gracious behaviour, + Or as insufferably ignorant of the teachings of the Book of Rites + + But I am sojourning here in a strange land, + And am not fully informed of the usages of your dignified people. + + As the wise Mencius observed in one of his inspired hours, + Doubtless thinking forward to situation of this person: + Child who has once suffered unpleasant sensation of burning, + Ever afterward reluctant to approach stove. + Wherefore, as this person once accepted an invitation, + In words as affable and polished as yours, Mister, + To drink rice-spirit at The Blue Lantern, + And was there subjected to a custom of this country + Of an entirely disturbing and unpleasing nature, + Known as Ceremony of Confidence, + He has, since that day, viewed The Blue Lantern + With a feeling of most decided repugnance. + + + + A Night-Piece + + I climbed the other day up to the roof + Of the commanding and palatial Home for Asiatics + And looked across the city at the hour of no-light. + + Across great space of dark I looked, + But the skirt of darkness had a hundred rents, + Made by the lights of many people's homes. + + My life is a great skirt of darkness, + But human kindliness has torn it through, + So that it shows ten thousand gaping rents + Where the light comes in. + + + + A Smile Given In Passing + + As I walked the street in the purring evening + A little maid with yellow curls + Tossed me a smile; and suddenly Pennyfields + Grew from darkness to light, and the light of the stars + Grew pale. + + I may not see her again, but I hold her smile in my heart, + And she is with me in my shop and about the streets. + My shop may tumble down; + West India Dock may some time suffer a drought; + Grief and Joy come for a day; + And Hope and Fear, and Desire and Deed + Arise and pass, and are no more; + But the beauty born of her quickened smile + Can never die. + + + + Of a National Cash Register + + Last week this person, desiring to make it known + That he was in all ways moving up to the date, + Introduced into his insignificant shop + A machine-that-counts, + Called a National Cash Register, + Which announces to refined and intelligent customers + The amounts of their purchases. + + This week this person purchased a whole days' amusement; + And the amount he paid for this was another's discomfiture and pain. + And, after a night of cogitation, + He is moved to reflect on the far-reaching and wholesome value + Of a National Register which would announce to the face + The cost of such pleasures as this. + + + + Under a Shining Window + + A lamplit window, + At the top of a tenement house near Poplar High Street, + Shines fluently out of the night; + And looking upward I see + That the bricks of the houses are bright and fair to the eye. + + There are no flowers in West India Dock Road; + Nothing but brick and stone, and iron and spent air. + But when rough brick and stone are a shrine for beauty, + They become themselves beautiful. + Perhaps if this person encloses within himself + Beautiful thoughts and amiable intentions, + His insignificant frame may acquire + The noble outlines of that tenement house. + + + + Exchange of Compliments + + At ten o'clock last night an ugly fellow, + Of skinny exterior and most ungracious manner, + Was thrown with a total loss of gravity + From the flapping doors of the Blue Lantern. + + He lurched in most ungainly fashion past this person's shop-- + This person standing at his door-- + And used base language of an unpolished nature, + Calling him Ugly Yellow Bastard, + Hop Fiend and Dirty Doper, + Eater of Dogs and Cheater at Puckapoo, + Son-of-a-Bitch and devotee of vice. + + This person did not respond in like manner, + Knowing that he is not himself all-perfect, + Nor even in every hour + A devout follower of the teachings of the Four Books. + He contented himself with repeating in a far-reaching tone, + The words of the lofty Lao Tzu: + When pot upon stove reproveth kettle for blackness, + Pot speaking out of turn. + + + + A Song of Little Girls + + I want to make a song of the little girls + That live about this quarter. + I could make a song of boys quite easily with words, + But words are too blunt for such delicate things as girls. + I would like to make my song of them with bees and butterflies. + One looks at the boy, and says Boy; + And lo, one has described him. + But little girls are morning light and melody; + Their happy hair flutters and flies, or curtains their laughing faces-- + Faces glad as the sun at dawn. + Their clear, cool skin is like wine to the eyes, + The lines of their fluent limbs run like a song, + And every step is a note of grace which the frock repeats. + + Don't you think it a pity, and greatly to be deplored + That these should lose this beauty, + And pass from it to the guile and trickery of woman? + + + + Of Shop Windows + + Looking closely at the glass windows of my shop, + I see in them the whole of my shop reflected. + Looking at my windows closely from the street, + I see in them the life of the street reflected. + Yet if I stand away, the glass remains transparent, + And I see clearly through it to the things beyond. + + If I look with close vision + Into the hearts of men, + I see my own small heart reflected. + I will try henceforth not to look at them too closely. + + + + At the Feast of Lanterns + + Lithely on their strings swing the many-coloured lanterns, + For this is the Feast of Lanterns; + And Pennyfields and West India Dock Road + Are to-night a part of my own country, + Aglow with the hues of the Peacock's Tail, + Very amiable to the eye. + + In a recess of my heart + Is a poor street hung with lanterns. + These lanterns are my thoughts, + And they are lighted at the last hours of the evenings, + When through this street + Walks the willowy maiden from the tea-shop across the road. + + + + One Service Breeds Another + + One of this person's white-skinned friends, Bill Hawkins, + Who labours at the waterside, + Had occasion, at the time of unkind weather, + To rescue from the certain peril of drowning + One who had slipped from the edge of a wharf to the dock. + + Without reward the flower serves the bee. + The mother serves the child with pain and toil. + The soldier serves his king without king's gratitutde. + And this person has noted with much private amusement, + How, since this one service rendered, + Bill Hawkins goes ever from his accustomed path + To add service to service to the one he rescued; + While the rescued one looks ever upon Bill Hawkins + With eyes of no-approval, indeed, with intense disgust. + + + + An Offer of a Lodging + + Little maid of the yellow curls + You look sad as you pass my window. + You look as though you would like to creep into some warm nest, + And hide your golden head. + + Oh, look, little maid! I have made you a nest! + Creep into it, and I will hide you away, + Quietly, in the nest of my heart, + I will wrap you around with verses and cover you with fair thoughts. + + There is yet one little corner left, + Free from the world's defilement; + One little corner where not a breath of wrong + Shall enter to disturb your slumbering. + And I will cherish you there + In the nest you will make so pure. + I will hold you and guard you safe from the snares of the stony streets. + Be at peace, little maid, and lie in trust; + For though my feet may stumble, and I may fall, + The corner that houses you I will ever keep whole. + + + + Of Two Dwellings + + At the lower end of Limehouse Causeway + Is a house where girls surrender their bodies + To the pleasures of base-minded and unpolished men, + In return for shillings. + And on the walls about this house + Blossoms at summer the wild white rose. + + In a tiny room at the top of a tenement + Lives a white maid of surpassing virtue, + Gentle in manner and quiet and dutiful, + Combing her golden curls each morning + Before a window that looks out to hell; + That looks upon cesspools of mud, and mounds of refuse + and the offal of the shops. + + + + Concerning English Gambling + + One morning, at the season of Clear Weather, + As I sat alone in my Tea-House of the Refined White Lily, + A stranger of affable address approached me, + And showed me, with a multitude of argument, + To what advantage I should come + Were I to place the whole of my substance with him, + Even to my shirt, + As a token of my faith in Ice Cream Cornet for the Lincolnshire. + + And because I would not do so, + He withdrew himself from me as from one of mean birth and behaviour, + Reviling me with the name of "No-Sport," + And other characters of opprobrium. + + But this person told him + That he carried always on written leaves + The words of his august father, + Concerning horses and women, and the wind in the hills + and the hooting of owls. + + He did not tell him that he knew full well + That Ice Cream Cornet was a non-starter for the Lincolnshire. + + + + Of Politicians + + Upon a time the amiable Bill Hawkins + Married a fair wife, demure and of chaste repute, + Keeping closely from her, however, + Any knowledge of the manner of man he had been. + + Upon the nuptial night, + Awaking and finding himself couched with a woman, + As had happened on divers occasions, + He arose, and dressed and departed, + Leaving at the couch's side four goodly coins. + + But in the street, + Remembering the occasion and his present estate of marriage, + He returned with a haste of no-dignity, + Filled with emotions of an entirely disturbing nature, + Fear that his wife should discover his absence + And place evil construction upon it, + Being uppermost. + + Entering stealthily, then, with the toes of the leopard, + With intention of quickly disrobing, + And rejoining the forsaken bride, + He perceived her sitting erect on the couch, + Biting shrewdly, with a distressing air of experience, + At one of the coins. + + Even so it is when Big Politician meets Little Politician. + + + + Of the Great White War + + During the years when the white men fought each other, + I observed how the aged cried aloud in public places + Of honour and chivalry, and the duty of the young; + And how the young ceased doing the pleasant things of youth, + And became suddenly old, + And marched away to defend the aged. + + And I observed how the aged + Became suddenly young; + And mouthed fair phrases one to the other upon the Supreme Sacrifice, + And turned to their account-books, murmuring gravely: + Business as Usual; + And brought out bottles of wine and drank the health + Of the young men they had sent out to die for them. + + + + At the Time of Clear Weather + + In the agreeable public gardens of Poplar + The bushes are bright with buds, + For this is the season of Clear Weather. + There blossom the quiet flowers of this country: + The timid lilac, + The unassuming hawthorn, + The dignified chestnut, + And the girlish laburnum; + And the mandarin of them all is the rhododendron. + + In the untilled field of my heart + Many simple buds are bursting. + There is a little bush of kindliness towards all men. + There is a slender tree of forgiveness for all wrongs. + There is a humble growth of repentance for past sins. + And around the field is a thick hedge of thankfulness. + + And Ho! in the midst of all + Stands the tree of a hundred boughs + Laden with the sweetest of all buds + Which are breaking to flower under the sun of a maiden's eyes. + + + + Parent and Child + + Often of an evening I take the air + And linger on the bridge by the Isle of Dogs, + And sometimes see + The swan-like shape of the ship that brought me hither. + Often since then that ship has gone + To the land from which it brought me; + And on each voyage my heart accompanies it. + + Should I some day in person journey with it, + My honourable father would welcome his little son. + He would not see this worn and tattered one, + This lean and sorrowful son of the waterside. + He would not see this parchment face, + This figure without lustre. + He would see his little son who left him long ago; + For love would brush away the husk of years, + And leave a little child. + + + + Of Worship and Conduct + + At the corner of the Causeway on every seventh evening + Gathers the band of Salvation Army, + Making big noise of Washed-in-Blood-of-Lamb. + + At temple in East India Dock Road + Men gather in white clothes, and sing, + And march with candles and pray to Lady. + + At shop in Pennyfields, many times a day, + This person pays respect to Big Man Joss, + And burns to him prayer-papers and punk-sticks. + + And all day long men toil for wife and child; + Wife suffer and stint to make bigger plate for child; + Child beg in street to get food for sick mother; + Sister wear ragged clothes for sake of little brother. + And none of these has bowed to Joss, + Or marched with candle, + Or washed in blood of Lamb. + + + + Going to Market + + Good morning, Mister, how do you do? + I am going to Salmon Lane, to the cheap market for dainty foods. + Won't you come with me, Mister? + + I shall buy meat and fish and a loaf of bread, + And fresh fruit and potatoes; + I shall buy a cluster of flowers and a bottle of wine, + Some butter and some jam, + And biscuits, and nuts and candy. + For I give an English feast to-night to a friend with yellow curls, + And every dish will be cooked by me. + + Into the pot will go sharp spices, + To flavour your English meats: + Cayenne and thyme, and sage and salt, + A sprig of parsley for garnish, + And some delicate bamboo shoots. + But the sweetest spice will not be seen, + It will leap from my heart to the pot as I stir it. + I am going to gather it on the way to the market + From my own sweet thoughts and from elegant conversation + With notable misters. + Won't you come with me? + + + + A Portrait + + How shall I write of you, little friend, + To my father on the River of Serenity? + I will tell him of your twenty yellow curls + Tumbling in a cascade about your shoulders; + Your bright mouth and fine brow, + Lit by yet brighter eyes, + Where fireflies dance; + How in your cheeks you hold + The colours of the flower before its leaves unclose; + How the tones of your voice, sounding in my ears, + Float before my eyes like strings of lanterns; + How, when I look closely upon you, + I see my thoughts like a white river in your eyes; + How, as I walk down the street where you have trod, + The very stones are to me the smiles that you scatter as you pass. + How your look thrills my heart as a guitar thrills to the touch. + + And I will tell him that you are not for me, + For you are white and I am yellow; + Unless, perchance, shame and disgrace fall upon you, + As it falls upon some girls of this quarter, + And your neighbours and friends pass by the other way. + Then, perhaps, it would be permitted to me + To render service to you. + + + + On a Saying of Mencius + + That was well said of Mencius: + The misfortunes of one are the entertainment of many. + + When Prosperity attended the occasions of this person, + And his heart smiled within him, + He was regarded and received on all sides by his fellows + With attitudes of dignity and expressions of mandarin-like solemnity, + And his laughing heart could fetch no smile + To the faces of those about him. + + But when, on a recent manifestation of evil spirits, + He was hailed before those in authority + And commanded to pay very many taels, + For the fault of possessing some morsels of chandu, the Great Tobacco, + And his heart was heavy and dark as a raincloud within him, + He was received on all sides + With attitudes of mirth and expressions of no-gravity. + + + + Dockside Noises + + There are in Limehouse many sounds; + A hundred different sounds by day and night. + + The crash and mutter of the dockside railway, + The noise of quarrel, the noise of fist on face, + My country's songs, guitars, and gramophones, + The noise of boot on stone, + The noise of women bargaining their flesh, + The noise of singers in the ships, + Sounds of threat and sounds of fear, + Blasts of hammer and steel and iron, + The scream of syren, the wail of hooter, + The clangour of angry bells, + The boom of guns, the clatter of factories, + The panic of feet, and malevolent words. + + All these sounds I know, and they disturb me not. + The sound that is to me most terrible, + That snatches slumber from me, + Is the sound that is most common: + The scream of a child at night. + + + + Reproof and Approbation + + Because I gave a piece of silk + To my friend of the golden curls, + One (may the dogs devour him) threw a stone at my window, + And hooted and jeered and made base noise with his mouth. + Nay, worse, this son of a sea-slug (may his line perish) + Hurled hard names at my friend, + Calling her Tart, and Flusey, and Tom; and, as we walked together, + Cried: `Watcher, Nancy, who's yer friend with the melon face + And the bug-eaten cabbage-leaf on his head?' + + The lean and scurvy dog that slinks about Pennyfields + Flew in great fear at sight of this reprover of our doings, + And came to me, and rubbed itself against my shoe. + + + + The Feast of Go Nien + + We are now in the Pepper Month; + And soon will come the Feast of Go Nien. + Then I will pay my debts, and gather in my dues. + I will walk in the great procession; + And afterwards I will hang up my devil-chasers + And will proceed to the restaurant of Ng Tack, + And drink spring wine with him and meet my friends. + + That evening I shall eat of the best: + Of chicken cream and pigeon in soy-ed, + With a brown noodle of pork and prawn, + And a curry of fish and a large Chung Goun, + Sweet onions, and black eggs and chow chow. + And when we have done, + We will have cakes and tea, and music and songs, + And call in our white friends to sit with us. + + For this one day we shall be each to the other, + What the other would desire. + Perhaps it is well that this day + Occurs but once in the year's calendar; + For if we always so behaved, one to the other, + There would be no business done. + + + + Directions for Making Tea + + In making tchah for table, each man has his own way. + Some serve it dashed with lemon, and some with bamboo shoot, + And some with sugar, in the English way, + And some with spot of sam-shu.; + But when one offers tchah to distinguished visitor, + One offers the noble suey sen, and flavors it + With the dried bud of the noble chrysanthemum. + + Consider these verses, little friend, + As cups of suey sen + Flavoured with the buds of the flower of all flowers. + + + + Of Inaccessible Beauty + + Ladies in elegant silks and laces + Have come at times to my insignificant shop, + For pieces of jade, or banners, or curious cuttings of ivory. + And I look with insufferable emotion + Upon their roseleaf skin, + And breathe the soft scents that flow from their garments, + And long to soothe their lily-fingered hands. + In their presence + I am seized with longings unutterable, + And am filled with a sickness of my present unkind estate. + + But then I remember + That Beauty's not always a star, + Not always remote, not always in lofty places, + Chrysanthemum-clad and lily-sheathed; + But often lies in the hedges + And peeps from street-corners + And lurks shyly behind broken doorways. + + And I think upon the kind and considerate beauty + Of the maid with the golden curls, + And her patched, uncoloured robes of common cloth. + And with a change of mood I charge the elegant ladies + Three times the value of the articles chosen, + And thus tear from their flowery bodies + Pieces of their billowing silk + To deck the less fervid beauty of my friend. + + + + Night and Day + + The waters of the river flow swiftly at Limehouse Hole, + Past wharves, and ugly gardens, + Past beautiful steel ships and tawny sails, + Past clamorous factories and broken boats and bells. + + Throughout the day these things are one-- + One body of dire endeavour. + But when the evening introduces the night, + This thing is broken into a thousand delicacies, + And the warm notes of night + Make happy discord of the day's harsh harmonies. + + + + Of a Night in War-Time + + Upon a night I sat behind my shop, + In happy talk with casual company: + The upright Ho Ling, the grave Cheng Huan, + And the round-bodied and amiable Sway Too, of my own country; + Together with the maid of the golden curls, + A sad-eyed seaman from Malay, + And two pale Englishmen, Bill Hawkins and Jack Brown. + + We sat beneath the lantern, and drank our tchah in fellowship, + And spoke of this and of that. + And the moon rose and mated with the soft smells of my store, + And brought forth a spirit that spoke to us + Of things forgotten or lost, or long despaired of. + + Friendship bound us together, and we sat late, + Glad of the night, and each glad of his companions; + While men in another land + Wrought horrors upon their fellows beneath this moon, + Drunk with the wicked words of the wicked lords of men. + + + + A Love Lesson + + Last night I dreamed of the maid with yellow curls. + She came to me in the room above my shop, + And we two were alone, freed from the laws of day. + I held her then to myself. + I took from her her clothing, garment by garment, + And watched them fall about her feet, + White petals of a flower. + And I drew from her to myself her thoughts, one by one, + As often I had wished, till all of her was mine. + + Then I was sad, for nothing was left to love. + And I quickly clothed her again, garment by garment, + And gave her back her thoughts, one by one, + And awoke in joy. + I was glad that the dream was a dream, + And that all of her was not mine; + For I had learned + That love released from bond, and unburdened of its fetters, + Is love no longer. + + + + A Rebuke + + Excuse me, Mister, if I enter a gentle protest + About the manner in which you comport yourself + When taking the air about the streets. + For, looking at you, one would form the opinion + That you were a man of much worth and nobility, + That you were high in officialdom, + A councillor of the king or a learned judge, + Or one whose piety and wisdom + Had marked him out to sit above his fellow. + + One 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 supplied me with it + Spoke of as Natty, and added his assurance + That I would look Quite the Gentleman. + I have bought white collars and many-coloured ties, + And a walking-stick and a blue-spotted shirt. + + Apparelled thus, I strolled this evening down Pennyfields, + And the old men came out with expressions of no-kindness. + They made ugly mouths, + And passed words one to the other of a derisive nature. + + But I am young Quong Lee, + Who write verse in the English tongue, + And am quite English gentleman. + And English gentleman + Not suffer himself to be disturbed by hooting of owls. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Song Book of Quong Lee of Limehouse, by +Thomas Burke + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONG BOOK OF QUONG LEE *** + +***** This file should be named 2161.txt or 2161.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/6/2161/ + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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