‘Mongst tombstones shining in the sun,
A knot of bumpkins stood to chat
Of that and this, and this and that;
What people said of Polly Hatch —
Which side had won the-cricket match;
And who was cotch’d, and who was bowl’d; —
How barley1, beans, and ‘taters sold —
What men could swallow at a meal —
When Bumpstead Youths would ring a peal2 —
And who was taken off to jail —
And where they brew’d the strongest ale —
At last this question they address,
“What’s Agricultural Distress3?”
Hodge.
“For my peart, it’s a thought o’ mine,
It be the fancy farming line,
Like yonder gemman — him I mean,
As took the Willa nigh the Green —
And turn’d his cattle in the wheat;
And gave his porkers hay to eat;
And sent his footman up to town,
To ax the Lonnon gentry4 down,
To be so kind as make his hay,
Exactly on St. Swithin’s day; —
With consequences you may guess —
That’s Hagricultural Distress.”
Dickon.
“Last Monday morning, Master Blogg
Com’d for to stick our bacon-hog5;
But th’ hog he cock’d a knowing eye,
As if he twigg’d the reason why,
And dodg’d and dodg’d ’un such a dance,
He didn’t give the noose6 a chance;
So Master Blogg at last lays off,
And shams7 a rattle8 at the trough,
When swish! in bolts our bacon-hog
Atwixt the legs o’ Master Blogg,
And flops9 him down in all the muck,
As hadn’t been swept up by luck —
Now that, accordin’ to my guess,
Be Hagricultural Distress.”
Giles.
“No, that arn’t it, I tell ‘ee flat;
I’ze bring a worser case nor that!”
“Last Friday week, I takes a start
To Reading, with our horse and cart;
Well, when I’ze set the ‘taters down,
I meets a crony at the Crown;
And what betwixt the ale and Tom,
It’s dark afore I starts for home;
So whipping hard, by long and late,
At last we reaches nigh the gate,
And, sure enough, there Master stand,
A lantern flaring10 in his hand —
‘Why, Giles,’ says he, ‘what’s that ’un thear?
Yond’ chestnut11 horse bean’t my bay mear!
He bean’t not worth a leg o’ Bess!’
There’s Hagricultural Distress!”
Hob.
“That’s nothin yet, to Tom’s mishap12!
A-gooing through the yard, poor chap,
Only to fetch his milking-pails,
When up he shies like head or tails;
Nor would the Bull let Tom a-be,
Till he had toss’d the best o’ three; —
And there lies Tom with broken bones,
A surgeon’s job for Doctor Jones;
Well, Doctor Jones lays down the law,
‘There’s two crackt ribs13, besides a jaw14 —
Eat well,’ says he, ‘stuff out your case,
For that will keep the ribs in place;’
But how was Tom, poor chap, to chaw,
Seeing as how he’d broke his jaw?
That’s summut to the pint15 — yes, yes,
That’s Hagricultural Distress!”
Simon.
“Well, turn and turn about is fair:
Tom’s bad enough, and so’s the mare16;
But nothing to my load of hay —
You see, ’twas hard on quarter-day,
And cash was wanted for the rent;
So up to Lonnon I was sent,
To sell as prime a load of hay,
As ever dried on summer’s day.
“Well, standing17 in Whitechapel Road,
A chap comes up to buy my load,
And looks, and looks about the cart,
Pretending to be ‘cute and smart;
But no great judge, as people say,
‘Cause why? he never smelt18 the hay.
Thinks I, as he’s a simple chap,
He’ll give a simple price mayhap,
Such buyers comes but now and then,
So slap I axes nine pun’ ten.
‘That’s dear,’ says he, and pretty quick
He taps his leathers with his stick.
‘Suppose,’ says he, ‘we wet our clay,
Just while we bargin ‘bout the hay.
So in we goes, my chap and me;
He drinks to I, and I to he;
At last, says I, a little gay,
‘It’s time to talk about that hay,’
‘Nine pund,’ says he, ‘and I’m your man,
Live, and let live — for that’s my plan.’
‘That’s true,’ says I, ‘but still I say,
It’s nine pun’ ten for that ’ere hay,’
And so we chaffers for a bit,
At long and last the odds19 we split;
And off he sets to show the way,
Where up a yard I leaves the hay.
Then, from the pocket of his coat,
He pulls a book, and picks a note.
‘That’s Ten,’ says he —‘I hope to pay
Tens upon tens for loads of hay.’
‘With all my heart, and soon,’ says I,
And feeling for the change thereby20;
But all my shillings com’d to five —
Says he, ‘No matter, man alive!
There’s something in your honest phiz
I’d trust, if twice the sum it is; —
You’ll pay next time you come to town.’
‘As sure,’ says I, ‘as corn is brown.’
‘All right,’ says he. — Thinks I ‘huzza!
He’s got no bargain of the hay!’
“Well, home I goes, with empty cart,
Whipping the horses pretty smart,
And whistling ev’ry yard o’ way,
To think how well I’d sold the hay —
And just cotch’d Master at his greens
And bacon, or it might be beans,
Which didn’t taste the worse surely,
To hear his hay had gone so high.
But lord! when I laid down the note,
It stuck the victuals21 in his throat,
And chok’d him till his face all grew
Like pickling-cabbage, red and blue;
With such big goggle22 eyes, Ods nails!
They seem’d a-coming out like snails23!
‘A note,’ says he, half mad with passion,
‘Why, thou dom’d fool! thou’st took a flash ’un!’
Now, wasn’t that a pretty mess?
That’s Hagricultural Distress.”
Colin.
“Phoo! phoo! You’re nothing near the thing!
You only argy in a ring;
‘Cause why? You never cares to look,
Like me, in any larned book;
But schollards know the wrong and right
Of every thing in black and white.
“Well, Farming, that’s its common name,
And Agriculture be the same:
So put your Farming first, and next
Distress, and there you have your text.
But here the question comes to press,
What farming be, and what’s distress?
Why, farming is to plough and sow,
Weed, harrow, harvest, reap, and mow24,
Thrash, winnow25, sell — and buy and breed
The proper stock to fat and feed.
Distress is want, and pain, and grief,
And sickness — things as wants relief;
Thirst, hunger, age, and cold severe;
In short, ax any overseer —
Well, now, the logic26 for to chop,
Where’s the distress about a crop?”
“There’s no distress in keeping sheep,
I likes to see ’em frisk and leap;
There’s no distress in seeing swine
Grow up to pork and bacon fine;
There’s no distress in growing wheat
And grass for men or beasts to eat;
And making of lean cattle fat,
There’s no distress, of course, in that.
Then what remains27? — But one thing more,
And that’s the Farming of the Poor!”
Hodge, Dickon, Giles, Hob, and Simon.
“Yea! — aye! — surely! — for sartin! — yes! —
That’s Hagricultural Distress!”
点击收听单词发音
1 barley | |
n.大麦,大麦粒 | |
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2 peal | |
n.钟声;v.鸣响 | |
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3 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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4 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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5 hog | |
n.猪;馋嘴贪吃的人;vt.把…占为己有,独占 | |
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6 noose | |
n.绳套,绞索(刑);v.用套索捉;使落入圈套;处以绞刑 | |
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7 shams | |
假象( sham的名词复数 ); 假货; 虚假的行为(或感情、言语等); 假装…的人 | |
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8 rattle | |
v.飞奔,碰响;激怒;n.碰撞声;拨浪鼓 | |
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9 flops | |
n.失败( flop的名词复数 )v.(指书、戏剧等)彻底失败( flop的第三人称单数 );(因疲惫而)猛然坐下;(笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地)移动或落下;砸锅 | |
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10 flaring | |
a.火焰摇曳的,过份艳丽的 | |
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11 chestnut | |
n.栗树,栗子 | |
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12 mishap | |
n.不幸的事,不幸;灾祸 | |
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13 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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14 jaw | |
n.颚,颌,说教,流言蜚语;v.喋喋不休,教训 | |
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15 pint | |
n.品脱 | |
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16 mare | |
n.母马,母驴 | |
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17 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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18 smelt | |
v.熔解,熔炼;n.银白鱼,胡瓜鱼 | |
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19 odds | |
n.让步,机率,可能性,比率;胜败优劣之别 | |
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20 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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21 victuals | |
n.食物;食品 | |
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22 goggle | |
n.瞪眼,转动眼珠,护目镜;v.瞪眼看,转眼珠 | |
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23 snails | |
n.蜗牛;迟钝的人;蜗牛( snail的名词复数 ) | |
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24 mow | |
v.割(草、麦等),扫射,皱眉;n.草堆,谷物堆 | |
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25 winnow | |
v.把(谷物)的杂质吹掉,扬去 | |
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26 logic | |
n.逻辑(学);逻辑性 | |
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27 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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