Page:Rudyard Kipling's verse - Inclusive Edition 1885-1918.djvu/91

Rh But Wandle's stream is Sutlej now,

And Putney's evening haze

The dust that half a hundred kine

Before my window raise.

Unkempt, unclean, athwart the mist

The seething city looms,

In place of Putney's golden gorse

The sickly babul blooms.

Glare down, old Hecate, through the dust,

And bid the pie-dog yell,

Draw from the drain its typhoid-germ,

From each bazaar its smell;

Yea, suck the fever from the tank

And sap my strength therewith:

Thank Heaven, you show a smiling face

To little Kitty Smith!



THE FALL OF JOCK GILLESPIE

HIS fell when dinner-time was done—

'Twixt the first an' the second rub—

That oor mon Jock cam' hame again

To his rooms ahint the Club.

An' syne he laughed, an' syne he sang,

An' syne we thocht him fou,

An' syne he trumped his partner's trick,

An' garred his partner rue.

Then up and spake an elder mon,

That held the Spade its Ace—

God save the lad! Whence comes the licht

"That wimples on his face?"

