Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/505

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MY OLD HAT.
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"Ten thousand thanks—how very few get  In time of danger  Such kind attentions from a stranger.Assuredly that fellow's throat isDoomed to a final drop at Newgate;He knows too, the unconscionable elf,That there's no soul at home except myself.""Indeed!" replied the stranger, looking grave,"Then he's a double knave.He knows that rogues and thieves by scoresNightly beset unguarded doors;And see how easily might one  Of these domestic foes,  Even beneath your nosePerform his knavish tricks,Enter your room as I have done,Blow out your candles—thus—and thus,Pocket your silver candlesticks,  And walk off thus."
So said—so done—he made no more remark,  Nor waited for replies,  But marched off with his prize,Leaving the gouty merchant in the dark.
My Old Hat.
I had a hat—it was not all a hat,Part of the brim was gone—yet still I woreIt on, and people wondered as I passed.Some turned to gaze—others just cast an eyeAnd soon withdrew it, as 'twere in contempt.But still my hat, although so fashionlessIn complement extern, had that withinSurpassing show—my head continued warm;Being sheltered from the weather, spite of allThe want (as has been said before) of brim.
A change came o'er the colour of my hat.That which was black grew brown—and then men staredWith both their eyes (they stared with one before).The wonder now was twofold; and it seemedStrange that a thing so torn and old should stillBe worn by one who might ——but let that pass!I had my reasons, which might be revealedBut for some counter-reasons, far more strong,Which tied my tongue to silence. Time passed on,
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