Page:Poets of John Company.djvu/136

114

It's not that I care for the money, or expect a dog to be clean, If I were lord of the ryots, they'd starve ere I grew lean; But I'd sooner be robbed by a tall man who showed me a yard of steel, Than be fleeced by a sneaking Baboo, with a belted knave at his heel.

There goes my lord the Feringhee, who talks so civil and bland. Till he raves like a soul in Jehannum if I don't quite understand; He begins by calling me Sahib, and ends by calling me Fool; He has taken my old sword from me, and tells me to set up a school;

Set up a school in the village! "And my wishes are," says he, "That you make the boys learn reg'lar, or you'll get a lesson from me"; Well, Ramlal the oilman spites me, and pounded my cow last rains; He's got three greasy young urchins; I'll see that they take pains.

Then comes a Settlement Hakim, to teach us to plough and to weed, (I sowed the cotton he gave me, but first I boiled the seed): He likes us humble farmers, and speaks so gracious and wise As he asks of our manners and customs; I tell him a parcel of lies.

"Look," says the school Feringhee, "what a silly old man you be, "You can't read, write, nor cypher, and your grandsons do all three; "They total the shopman's figures, and reckon the tenant's corn, "And read good books about London and the world before you were born."