And  man  to  live  by  his  sweat  and  toil  ?


Dick  Dalgleish


3°7


That  was  a  man,  sir,  with  hardly  a  rival
For  his  power  to  see,  and  his  grasp  of

thought ;
And  as  for  his  doctrine  of  fit  survival,
That's  the  new  gospel  this  age  has  got ;
And  we  must  be  rid  of  the  drones  in

the  hive.
That  the  true  workers  may  live  and

thrive.
They're  nearly  all  drones  now  on  board

here  to-day ;
Our  lads  went  off  with  an  earlier  boat ;
But  wife,  sir,  and  baby  must  have  their

own  way.
And  she  likes  the  gentle-folks  when

she's  afloat.
It  is  so,  you  know,  Kate  ;  you're  fain

now  to  hear
The  sweet-spoken  damsels  come  prais-
ing your  child ;
And    if  we  went   down,    you   would

rather  appear
With  respectable  folk,  pretty-mannered

and  mild.
Than    stand    at   the    judgment    with

Dick,  Tom,  and  Harry
Not  more  than  half-sobered  with  gulps

of  the  sea —
Oh,  how  can  I  say  so,  when  you  chose

to  marry
Such   a    blunt  working    chap,  such  a

rough  tyke  as  me  ?
That's  true ;  yet  you  cannot  deny  it

was  you
Brought  me  here  with  this  soft-handed,

soft-headed  crew.
Would  you  wish  me,  old  girl,  now,  to

be  just  like  these.
With  broadcloth  and  white  linen  worn

every  day,
And  to  saunter  through    'Change  for

an  hour  at  my  ease.
And  call  that  my  work,  though  it  looks

so  like  play  ?


Their  brow  never  sweats  with  the  work

they  have  done.
Unless  at  some  queer  job  that  looks

rather  ill,
And  then  it   is  but  for  the  risk  that

they  run.
When  they  shuffle  the  cards  for  a  trial

of  skill.
Now,  I  come  home  at  evening,  Kate,

dirty  and  weary.
