Those who've read S. T. Coleridge remember how Sammy sighs

To his pensive (I think he says) Sara—"most soothing-sweet"—

Crab's bulk's less (look!) than man's—yet (quoth Cancer) I am my size,

And my bulk's girth contents me! Man's maw (see?) craves two things—wheat

And flesh likewise—man's gluttonous—damn his eyes!

[Pg 382]

XI

Crab's content with crab's provender: crab's love, if soothing,

Is no sweeter than pincers are soft—and a new sickle

Cuts no sharper than crab's claws nip, keen as boar's toothing!

Yet crab's love's no less fervent than bard's, if less musical—

'Tis a new thing I'd lilt—but a true thing.

XII

Old songs tell us, of all drinks for Englishmen fighting, ale's

Out and out best: salt water contents crab, it seems to me,

Though pugnacious as sailors, and skilled to steer right in gales

That craze pilots, if slow to sing—"Sleep'st thou? thou dream'st o' me!"

In such love-strains as mine—or a nightingale's.

XIII

Ah, now, look you—tail foremost, the beast sets seaward—

 Prev. P 11/49 next