LIAR and bragger,

He had no friend

Except a dagger

And a candle-end;

The one he read by;

The one scared cravens;

And he was fed by

The Prophet's ravens.

Such haughty creatures

Avoid the human;

They fondle nature's

Breast, not woman—

A she-wolf's puppies—

A wild-cat's pussy-fur:

Their stirrup-cup is

The pride of Lucifer.

A stick he carried,

Slept in a lean-to;

He'd never married,

And he didn't mean to.

He'd tried religion

And found it pleasant;

He relished a pigeon

Stewed with a pheasant

In an iron kettle;

He built stone ovens.

He'd never settle

In any province.

He made pantries

Of Vaux and Arden

And the village gentry's

Kitchen-garden.

Fruits within yards

Were his staples;

He drank whole vineyards

From Rome to Naples,

Then went to Brittany

For the cider.

He could sit any

Horse, a rider

Outstripping Chaeron's

Canter and gallop.

Pau's environs

The pubs of Salop,

Wells and Bath inns

Shared his pleasure

With taverns of Athens;

The Sultan's treasure

He'd seen in Turkey;

He'd known London

Bright and murky.

His bones were sunned on

Paris benches

Beset by sparrows;

Roman trenches, Cave-men's barrows,

He liked, impartial;

He liked an Abbey.

His step was martial;

Spent and shabby

He wasn't broken;

A dozen lingoes

He must have spoken.

As a king goes

He went, not minding

That he lived seeking

And never finding.

He'd visit Peking

And then be gone soon

To the far Canaries;

He'd cross a monsoon

To chase vagaries.

He loved a city

And a street's alarums;

Parks were pretty

And so were bar-rooms.

He loved fiddles;

He talked with rustics;

Life was riddles

And queer acrostics.

His sins were serried,

His virtues garish;

His corpse was buried

In a country parish.

Before he went hence—

God knows where—

He spoke this sentence

With a princely air:

"The noose draws tighter;

This is the end;

I'm a good fighter,

But a bad friend:

I've played the traitor

Over and over;

I'm a good hater,

But a bad lover."

PEREGRINE