A Thief to His Lord
HOLY JACK, they said your side bled gold;
They say flame leapt from holes across your brow.
And Jack, that flowers sprouted from your hands
Where iron drove them hard against the bough.
I wish I had been there, old lad of love;
You must have looked a king upon that tree!
I'm game to wager either of my ears
The guards looked small against your majesty.
I met a woman in the tavern here
Who says they wept, the folk, to hear you jest
At being given wine upon a sponge.
And did you then? I always miss the best!
Oh! Jack, don't hold it hard against me that
I stabbed a soldier later for your coat.
Henry Treece
HOLY JACK, they said your side bled gold;
They say flame leapt from holes across your brow.
And Jack, that flowers sprouted from your hands
Where iron drove them hard against the bough.
I wish I had been there, old lad of love;
You must have looked a king upon that tree!
I'm game to wager either of my ears
The guards looked small against your majesty.
I met a woman in the tavern here
Who says they wept, the folk, to hear you jest
At being given wine upon a sponge.
And did you then? I always miss the best!
Oh! Jack, don't hold it hard against me that
I stabbed a soldier later for your coat.
Henry Treece