Black Bull of Aldgate, may thy horns rot from the sockets! For, jingling threepence, porter's pay, in hungry pockets, And thirty times at least beneath thy doorway stepping I've waited for this lousy coach that runs to Epping. Ill luck befall thee, that hast made me so splenetic, Through all thy holes and closets up from tap to attic, Through all thy boys and bootses, chambermaids, and waiters, And yonder booking-office-clerk in fustian gaiters. Black Bull of Aldgate! mayst thou more miscarry Than ever hasty Clement's did with bloated Harry! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SELF-SEEKER by ROBERT FROST A PRAYER FOR A VERY NEW ANGEL by VIOLET ALLEYN STOREY ON BEING BROUGHT FROM AFRICA TO AMERICA by PHILLIS WHEATLEY ENIGMA. TO THE LADIES by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD ODE TO REMORSE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD PSALM 121 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 35 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT PROLOGUE FOR THE SILVERDALE VILLAGE PLAYERS: EASTER 1924 by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |