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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE RENEGADE; JOHN PAUL JONES, by NATHALIA CRANE First Line: Oh, london town the screen goes down -- behold a renegade Last Line: I place a gaud to top a hoard -- the nerve of john paul jones. Subject(s): Jones, John Paul (1747-1792) | |||
Oh, London Town the screen goes down -- behold a renegade -- I'd sell for you the hosen blue from off the Boston maid. The wonder of the thunder when your gilded busses roll, The beauty and the duty when the Guards go out to stroll. The Moon comes over Tower Hill so tenderly and sweet, The Night Watch trim the candles dim in Henrietta Street. I waste the dark in weeping all because we tipped the tea; To drop a link and hear it clink may please a colony. But I would sell the Old South just to cross a Cheapside sill, To lay me down a half a crown and feel the fainter's thrill. The parrot soaks his biscuit and the squirrel bites his heir; A wretch who sells a blue print sketch goes on to signal flare. And so I offer Bunker Hill, the lanes of Lexington, That gala day down Yorktown way, you spent to stack the gun. A traitoress must ever hold herself within her gown Nor give too much into the clutch of even London Town. The hunter needs a coaxer when he shies the highest rail, The tags upon our battle flags would turn a guinea pale. And so I start with little things to make a sliding rate -- There's Molly with the gun swab, and the field piece added weight. The halls of fame declare she had a tot or two of gin, The reason why they do deny she was a heroine. The sword of Gen'ral Washington, displayed to good King George. A cracked old bell in Philadel -- the lists of Valley Forge. The wonder of the thunder that the Bon Homme Richard flung, The beauty and the duty when the grappling irons clung. I offer that same Indiaman that wallowed to the beams; You blew our ports to open courts -- we fired from the seams. I offer that stained quarter-deck the Hall of Fame doth shun, And now I'll put the captain up and let the prices run. He knew that we were going down, the catheads were immersed, The starboard guns had turned to nuns, the lower tier had burst. He answered when Serapis hailed upon that torrid night: "We're casting surplus cannon, Sir, we've just begun to fight." The battle lanterns walk the deck, the broadsides hush the groans -- I place a gaud to top a hoard -- the nerve of John Paul Jones. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JOHN PAUL JONES by NATHALIA CRANE CAPTAIN JONES' INVITATION by PHILIP FRENEAU THE BALLAD OF JOHN PAUL JONES by ARTHUR GUITERMAN PAUL JONES by WILLIAM A. PHELON PAUL JONES - A NEW SONG by ANONYMOUS THE YANKEE MAN-OF-WAR (2) by ANONYMOUS PAUL JONES' VICTORY by UNKNOWN |
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