Recantation: Illustrated in the Story of the Mad Ox

Samuel Taylor Coleridge * Track #142 On The Complete Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Vol I

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Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Recantation: Illustrated in the Story of the Mad Ox by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

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Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Recantation: Illustrated in the Story of the Mad Ox Annotated

I
An Ox, long fed with musty hay,
&nbspAnd work'd with yoke and chain,
Was turn'd out on an April day,
When fields are in their best array,
And growing grasses sparkle gay
&nbspAt once with Sun and rain.

II
The grass was fine, the Sun was bright—
&nbspWith truth I may aver it;
The ox was glad, as well, he might,
Thought a green meadow no bad sight,
And frisk'd,—to shew his huge delight,
&nbspMuch like a beast of spirit.

III
'Stop, neighbours, stop, why these alarms?
&nbspThe ox is only glad!'
But still they pour from cots and farms—
'Halloo!' the parish is up in arms,
(A hoaxing-hunt has always charms)
&nbsp'Halloo! the ox is mad.'

IV
The frighted beast scamper'd about—
&nbspPlunge! through the hedge he drove:
The mob pursue with hideous rout,
A bull-dog fastens on his snout;
'He gores the dog! his tongue hangs out!
&nbspHe's mad, he's mad, by Jove!'

V
'Stop, neighbours, stop!' aloud did call
A sage of sober hue.
&nbspBut all at once, on him they fall,
And women squeak and children squall,
'What? would you have him toss us all?
&nbspAnd dam'me, who are you?'

VI
Oh! hapless sage! his ears they stun,
&nbspAnd curse him o'er and o'er!
'You bloody-minded dog! (cries one,)
To slit your windpipe were good fun,
'Od blast you for an impious son[:]
&nbspOf a Presbyterian wh—re!'

VII
'You'd have him gore the Parish-priest,
&nbspAnd run against the altar!
You fiend!' the sage his warnings ceas'd,
And north and south, and west and east,
Halloo! they follow the poor beast,
&nbspMat, Dick, Tom, Bob and Walter.

VIII
Old Lewis ('twas his evil day),
&nbspStood trembling in his shoes;
The ox was his—what cou'd he say?
His legs were stiffen'd with dismay,
The ox ran o'er him mid the fray,
&nbspAnd gave him his death's bruise.

IX
The frighted beast ran on—(but here,
&nbspNo tale, (tho' in print, more true is)
My Muse stops short in mid career—
Nay, gentle Reader, do not sneer!
I cannot chuse but drop a tear,
&nbspA tear for good old Lewis!)

X
The frighted beast ran through the town,
&nbspAll follow'd, boy and dad,
Bull-dog, parson, shopman, clown:
The publicans rush'd from the Crown,
'Halloo! hamstring him! cut him down!'
&nbspThey drove the poor Ox mad.

XI
Should you a Rat to madness tease
&nbspWhy ev'n a Rat may plague you:
There's no Philosopher but sees
That Rage and Fear are one disease—
Though that may burn, and this may freeze,
&nbspThey're both alike the Ague.

XII
And so this Ox, in frantic mood,
&nbspFac'd round like any Bull!
The mob turn'd tail, and he pursued,
Till they with heat and fright were stew'd,
And not a chick of all this brood
&nbspBut had his belly full!

XIII
Old Nick's astride the beast, 'tis clear!
&nbspOld Nicholas, to a tittle!
But all agree he'd disappear,
Would but the Parson venture near,
And through his teeth,[:] right o'er the steer,
&nbspSquirt out some fasting-spittle.

XIV
Achilles was a warrior fleet,
&nbspThe Trojans he could worry:
Our Parson too was swift of feet,
But shew'd it chiefly in retreat:
The victor Ox scour'd down the street,
&nbspThe mob fled hurry-scurry.

XV
Through gardens, lanes and fields new-plough'd,
&nbspThrough his hedge, and through her hedge,
He plung'd and toss'd and bellow'd loud—
Till in his madness he grew proud
To see this helter-skelter crowd
&nbspThat had more wrath than courage!

XVI
Alas! to mend the breaches wide
&nbspHe made for these poor ninnies,
They all must work, whate'er betide,
Both days and months, and pay beside
(Sad news for Av'rice and for Pride),
&nbspA sight of golden guineas!

XVII
But here once more to view did pop
&nbspThe man that kept his senses—
And now he cried,—'Stop, neighbours, stop!
The Ox is mad! I would not swop,
No! not a school-boy's farthing top
&nbspFor all the parish-fences.'

XVIII
'The Ox is mad! Ho! Dick, Bob, Mat!
&nbsp'What means this coward fuss?
Ho! stretch this rope across the plat—
'Twill trip him up—or if not that,
Why, dam'me! we must lay him flat—
&nbspSee! here's my blunderbuss.'

XIX
'A lying dog! just now he said
&nbspThe Ox was only glad—
Let's break his Presbyterian head!'
'Hush!' quoth the sage, 'you've been misled;
No quarrels now! let's all make head,
&nbspYou drove the poor Ox mad.'

XX
As thus I sat, in careless chat,
&nbspWith the morning's wet newspaper,
In eager haste, without his hat,
As blind and blund'ring as a bat,
In came that fierce Aristocrat,
&nbspOur pursy woollen-draper.

XXI
And so my Muse per force drew bit;
&nbspAnd in he rush'd and panted!
'Well, have you heard?' No, not a whit.
'What, ha'nt you heard?' Come, out with it!
'That Tierney votes for Mister Pitt,
&nbspAnd Sheridan's recanted!

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