Goblin Market E-Book

C. G. Rossetti

• Herausgeber: C. G. Rossetti
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

Morning and evening
Maids heard the goblins cry:
'Come buy our orchard fruits,
Come buy, come buy:
Apples and quinces,
Lemons and oranges,
Plump unpecked cherries,
Melons and raspberries,
Bloom-down-cheeked peaches,
Swart-headed mulberries, 10
Wild free-born cranberries,
Crab-apples, dewberries,
Pine-apples, blackberries,
Apricots, strawberries;—
All ripe together
In summer weather,—
Morns that pass by,
Fair eves that fly;
Come buy, come buy

Leseprobe

C. G. Rossetti

Goblin Market

UUID: f4e9767e-9392-11e6-8745-0f7870795abd

This ebook was created with StreetLib Write (http://write.streetlib.com)by Simplicissimus Book Farm

Table of contents

GOBLIN MARKET

THE HOUR AND THE GHOST

DEVOTIONAL PIECES

THE THREE ENEMIES

THE PRINCE'S PROGRESS, AND OTHER POEMS, 1866

DEVOTIONAL PIECES

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 1848-69

GOBLIN MARKET

GOBLIN MARKET Morning and eveningMaids heard the goblins cry:'Come buy our orchard fruits,Come buy, come buy:Apples and quinces,Lemons and oranges,Plump unpecked cherries,Melons and raspberries,Bloom-down-cheeked peaches,Swart-headed mulberries, 10Wild free-born cranberries,Crab-apples, dewberries,Pine-apples, blackberries,Apricots, strawberries;—All ripe togetherIn summer weather,—Morns that pass by,Fair eves that fly;Come buy, come buy:Our grapes fresh from the vine, 20Pomegranates full and fine,Dates and sharp bullaces,Rare pears and greengages,Damsons and bilberries,Taste them and try:Currants and gooseberries,Bright-fire-like barberries,Figs to fill your mouth,Citrons from the South,Sweet to tongue and sound to eye; 30Come buy, come buy.'Evening by eveningAmong the brookside rushes,Laura bowed her head to hear,Lizzie veiled her blushes:Crouching close togetherIn the cooling weather,With clasping arms and cautioning lips,With tingling cheeks and finger tips.'Lie close,' Laura said, 40Pricking up her golden head:'We must not look at goblin men,We must not buy their fruits:Who knows upon what soil they fedTheir hungry thirsty roots?''Come buy,' call the goblinsHobbling down the glen.'Oh,' cried Lizzie, 'Laura, Laura,You should not peep at goblin men.'Lizzie covered up her eyes, 50Covered close lest they should look;Laura reared her glossy head,And whispered like the restless brook:'Look, Lizzie, look, Lizzie,Down the glen tramp little men.One hauls a basket,One bears a plate,One lugs a golden dishOf many pounds weight.How fair the vine must grow 60Whose grapes are so luscious;How warm the wind must blowThrough those fruit bushes.''No,' said Lizzie, 'No, no, no;Their offers should not charm us,Their evil gifts would harm us.'She thrust a dimpled fingerIn each ear, shut eyes and ran:Curious Laura chose to lingerWondering at each merchant man. 70One had a cat's face,One whisked a tail,One tramped at a rat's pace,One crawled like a snail,One like a wombat prowled obtuse and furry,One like a ratel tumbled hurry skurry.She heard a voice like voice of dovesCooing all together:They sounded kind and full of lovesIn the pleasant weather. 80Laura stretched her gleaming neckLike a rush-imbedded swan,Like a lily from the beck,Like a moonlit poplar branch,Like a vessel at the launchWhen its last restraint is gone.Backwards up the mossy glenTurned and trooped the goblin men,With their shrill repeated cry,'Come buy, come buy.' 90When they reached where Laura wasThey stood stock still upon the moss,Leering at each other,Brother with queer brother;Signalling each other,Brother with sly brother.One set his basket down,One reared his plate;One began to weave a crownOf tendrils, leaves, and rough nuts brown 100(Men sell not such in any town);One heaved the golden weightOf dish and fruit to offer her:'Come buy, come buy,' was still their cry.Laura stared but did not stir,Longed but had no money:The whisk-tailed merchant bade her tasteIn tones as smooth as honey,The cat-faced purr'd,The rat-faced spoke a word 110Of welcome, and the snail-paced even was heard;One parrot-voiced and jollyCried 'Pretty Goblin' still for 'Pretty Polly;'—One whistled like a bird.But sweet-tooth Laura spoke in haste:'Good folk, I have no coin;To take were to purloin:I have no copper in my purse,I have no silver either,And all my gold is on the furze 120That shakes in windy weatherAbove the rusty heather.''You have much gold upon your head,'They answered all together:'Buy from us with a golden curl.'She clipped a precious golden lock,She dropped a tear more rare than pearl,Then sucked their fruit globes fair or red:Sweeter than honey from the rock,Stronger than man-rejoicing wine, 130Clearer than water flowed that juice;She never tasted such before,How should it cloy with length of use?She sucked and sucked and sucked the moreFruits which that unknown orchard bore;She sucked until her lips were sore;Then flung the emptied rinds awayBut gathered up one kernel stone,And knew not was it night or dayAs she turned home alone. 140Lizzie met her at the gateFull of wise upbraidings:'Dear, you should not stay so late,Twilight is not good for maidens;Should not loiter in the glenIn the haunts of goblin men.Do you not remember Jeanie,How she met them in the moonlight,Took their gifts both choice and many,Ate their fruits and wore their flowers 150Plucked from bowersWhere summer ripens at all hours?But ever in the noonlightShe pined and pined away;Sought them by night and day,Found them no more, but dwindled and grew grey;Then fell with the first snow,While to this day no grass will growWhere she lies low:I planted daisies there a year ago 160That never blow.You should not loiter so.''Nay, hush,' said Laura:'Nay, hush, my sister:I ate and ate my fill,Yet my mouth waters still;To-morrow night I willBuy more:' and kissed her:'Have done with sorrow;I'll bring you plums to-morrow 170Fresh on their mother twigs,Cherries worth getting;You cannot think what figsMy teeth have met in,What melons icy-coldPiled on a dish of goldToo huge for me to hold,What peaches with a velvet nap,Pellucid grapes without one seed:Odorous indeed must be the mead 180Whereon they grow, and pure the wave they drinkWith lilies at the brink,And sugar-sweet their sap.'Golden head by golden head,Like two pigeons in one nestFolded in each other's wings,They lay down in their curtained bed:Like two blossoms on one stem,Like two flakes of new-fall'n snow,Like two wands of ivory 190Tipped with gold for awful kings.Moon and stars gazed in at them,Wind sang to them lullaby,Lumbering owls forbore to fly,Not a bat flapped to and froRound their rest:Cheek to cheek and breast to breastLocked together in one nest.Early in the morningWhen the first cock crowed his warning, 200Neat like bees, as sweet and busy,Laura rose with Lizzie:Fetched in honey, milked the cows,Aired and set to rights the house,Kneaded cakes of whitest wheat,Cakes for dainty mouths to eat,Next churned butter, whipped up cream,Fed their poultry, sat and sewed;Talked as modest maidens should:Lizzie with an open heart, 210Laura in an absent dream,One content, one sick in part;One warbling for the mere bright day's delight,One longing for the night.At length slow evening came:They went with pitchers to the reedy brook;Lizzie most placid in her look,Laura most like a leaping flame.They drew the gurgling water from its deep;Lizzie plucked purple and rich golden flags, 220Then turning homeward said: 'The sunset flushesThose furthest loftiest crags;Come, Laura, not another maiden lags,No wilful squirrel wags,The beasts and birds are fast asleep.'But Laura loitered still among the rushesAnd said the bank was steep.And said the hour was early stillThe dew not fall'n, the wind not chill:Listening ever, but not catching 230The customary cry,'Come buy, come buy,'With its iterated jingleOf sugar-baited words:Not for all her watchingOnce discerning even one goblinRacing, whisking, tumbling, hobbling;Let alone the herdsThat used to tramp along the glen,In groups or single, 240Of brisk fruit-merchant men.Till Lizzie urged, 'O Laura, come;I hear the fruit-call but I dare not look:You should not loiter longer at this brook:Come with me home.The stars rise, the moon bends her arc,Each glowworm winks her spark,Let us get home before the night grows dark:For clouds may gatherThough this is summer weather, 250Put out the lights and drench us through;Then if we lost our way what should we do?'Laura turned cold as stoneTo find her sister heard that cry alone,That goblin cry,'Come buy our fruits, come buy.'Must she then buy no more such dainty fruit?Must she no more such succous pasture find,Gone deaf and blind?Her tree of life drooped from the root: 260She said not one word in her heart's sore ache;But peering thro' the dimness, nought discerning,Trudged home, her pitcher dripping all the way;So crept to bed, and laySilent till Lizzie slept;Then sat up in a passionate yearning,And gnashed her teeth for baulked desire, and weptAs if her heart would break.Day after day, night after night,Laura kept watch in vain 270In sullen silence of exceeding pain.She never caught again the goblin cry:'Come buy, come buy;'—She never spied the goblin menHawking their fruits along the glen:But when the noon waxed brightHer hair grew thin and grey;She dwindled, as the fair full moon doth turnTo swift decay and burnHer fire away. 280One day remembering her kernel-stoneShe set it by a wall that faced the south;Dewed it with tears, hoped for a root,Watched for a waxing shoot,But there came none;It never saw the sun,It never felt the trickling moisture run:While with sunk eyes and faded mouthShe dreamed of melons, as a traveller seesFalse waves in desert drouth 290With shade of leaf-crowned trees,And burns the thirstier in the sandful breeze.She no more swept the house,Tended the fowls or cows,Fetched honey, kneaded cakes of wheat,Brought water from the brook:But sat down listless in the chimney-nookAnd would not eat.Tender Lizzie could not bearTo watch her sister's cankerous care 300Yet not to share.She night and morningCaught the goblins' cry:'Come buy our orchard fruits,Come buy, come buy:'—Beside the brook, along the glen,She heard the tramp of goblin men,The voice and stirPoor Laura could not hear;Longed to buy fruit to comfort her, 310But feared to pay too dear.She thought of Jeanie in her grave,Who should have been a bride;But who for joys brides hope to haveFell sick and diedIn her gay prime,In earliest Winter timeWith the first glazing rime,With the first snow-fall of crisp Winter time.Till Laura dwindling 320Seemed knocking at Death's door:Then Lizzie weighed no moreBetter and worse;But put a silver penny in her purse,Kissed Laura, crossed the heath with clumps of furzeAt twilight, halted by the brook:And for the first time in her lifeBegan to listen and look.Laughed every goblinWhen they spied her peeping: 330Came towards her hobbling,Flying, running, leaping,Puffing and blowing,Chuckling, clapping, crowing,Clucking and gobbling,Mopping and mowing,Full of airs and graces,Pulling wry faces,Demure grimaces,Cat-like and rat-like, 340Ratel- and wombat-like,Snail-paced in a hurry,Parrot-voiced and whistler,Helter skelter, hurry skurry,Chattering like magpies,Fluttering like pigeons,Gliding like fishes,—Hugged her and kissed her:Squeezed and caressed her:Stretched up their dishes, 350Panniers, and plates:'Look at our applesRusset and dun,Bob at our cherries,Bite at our peaches,Citrons and dates,Grapes for the asking,Pears red with baskingOut in the sun,Plums on their twigs; 360Pluck them and suck them,Pomegranates, figs.'—'Good folk,' said Lizzie,Mindful of Jeanie:'Give me much and many:'—Held out her apron,Tossed them her penny.'Nay, take a seat with us,Honour and eat with us,'They answered grinning: 370'Our feast is but beginning.Night yet is early,Warm and dew-pearly,Wakeful and starry:Such fruits as theseNo man can carry;Half their bloom would fly,Half their dew would dry,Half their flavour would pass by.Sit down and feast with us, 380Be welcome guest with us,Cheer you and rest with us.'—'Thank you,' said Lizzie: 'But one waitsAt home alone for me:So without further parleying,If you will not sell me anyOf your fruits though much and many,Give me back my silver pennyI tossed you for a fee.'—They began to scratch their pates, 390No longer wagging, purring,But visibly demurring,Grunting and snarling.One called her proud,Cross-grained, uncivil;Their tones waxed loud,Their looks were evil.Lashing their tailsThey trod and hustled her,Elbowed and jostled her, 400Clawed with their nails,Barking, mewing, hissing, mocking,Tore her gown and soiled her stocking,Twitched her hair out by the roots,Stamped upon her tender feet,Held her hands and squeezed their fruitsAgainst her mouth to make her eat.White and golden Lizzie stood,Like a lily in a flood,—Like a rock of blue-veined stone 410Lashed by tides obstreperously,—Like a beacon left aloneIn a hoary roaring sea,Sending up a golden fire,—Like a fruit-crowned orange-treeWhite with blossoms honey-sweetSore beset by wasp and bee,—Like a royal virgin townTopped with gilded dome and spireClose beleaguered by a fleet 420Mad to tug her standard down.One may lead a horse to water,Twenty cannot make him drink.Though the goblins cuffed and caught her,Coaxed and fought her,Bullied and besought her,Scratched her, pinched her black as ink,Kicked and knocked her,Mauled and mocked her,Lizzie uttered not a word; 430Would not open lip from lipLest they should cram a mouthful in:But laughed in heart to feel the dripOf juice that syrupped all her face,And lodged in dimples of her chin,And streaked her neck which quaked like curd.At last the evil people,Worn out by her resistance,Flung back her penny, kicked their fruitAlong whichever road they took, 440Not leaving root or stone or shoot;Some writhed into the ground,Some dived into the brookWith ring and ripple,Some scudded on the gale without a sound,Some vanished in the distance.In a smart, ache, tingle,Lizzie went her way;Knew not was it night or day;Sprang up the bank, tore thro' the furze, 450Threaded copse and dingle,And heard her penny jingleBouncing in her purse,—Its bounce was music to her ear.She ran and ranAs if she feared some goblin manDogged her with gibe or curseOr something worse:But not one goblin skurried after,Nor was she pricked by fear; 460The kind heart made her windy-pacedThat urged her home quite out of breath with hasteAnd inward laughter.She cried 'Laura,' up the garden,'Did you miss me?Come and kiss me.Never mind my bruises,Hug me, kiss me, suck my juicesSqueezed from goblin fruits for you,Goblin pulp and goblin dew. 470Eat me, drink me, love me;Laura, make much of me:For your sake I have braved the glenAnd had to do with goblin merchant men.'Laura started from her chair,Flung her arms up in the air,Clutched her hair:'Lizzie, Lizzie, have you tastedFor my sake the fruit forbidden?Must your light like mine be hidden, 480Your young life like mine be wasted,Undone in mine undoing,And ruined in my ruin,Thirsty, cankered, goblin-ridden?'—She clung about her sister,Kissed and kissed and kissed her:Tears once againRefreshed her shrunken eyes,Dropping like rainAfter long sultry drouth; 490Shaking with aguish fear, and pain,She kissed and kissed her with a hungry mouth.Her lips began to scorch,That juice was wormwood to her tongue,She loathed the feast:Writhing as one possessed she leaped and sung,Rent all her robe, and wrungHer hands in lamentable haste,And beat her breast.Her locks streamed like the torch 500Borne by a racer at full speed,Or like the mane of horses in their flight,Or like an eagle when she stems the lightStraight toward the sun,Or like a caged thing freed,Or like a flying flag when armies run.Swift fire spread through her veins, knocked at her heart,Met the fire smouldering thereAnd overbore its lesser flame;She gorged on bitterness without a name: 510Ah! fool, to choose such partOf soul-consuming care!Sense failed in the mortal strife:Like the watch-tower of a townWhich an earthquake shatters down,Like a lightning-stricken mast,Like a wind-uprooted treeSpun about,Like a foam-topped waterspoutCast down headlong in the sea, 520She fell at last;Pleasure past and anguish past,Is it death or is it life?Life out of death.That night long Lizzie watched by her,Counted her pulse's flagging stir,Felt for her breath,Held water to her lips, and cooled her faceWith tears and fanning leaves:But when the first birds chirped about their eaves, 530And early reapers plodded to the placeOf golden sheaves,And dew-wet grassBowed in the morning winds so brisk to pass,And new buds with new dayOpened of cup-like lilies on the stream,Laura awoke as from a dream,Laughed in the innocent old way,Hugged Lizzie but not twice or thrice;Her gleaming locks showed not one thread of grey, 540Her breath was sweet as MayAnd light danced in her eyes.Days, weeks, months, yearsAfterwards, when both were wivesWith children of their own;Their mother-hearts beset with fears,Their lives bound up in tender lives;Laura would call the little onesAnd tell them of her early prime,Those pleasant days long gone 550Of not-returning time:Would talk about the haunted glen,The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men,Their fruits like honey to the throatBut poison in the blood;(Men sell not such in any town:)Would tell them how her sister stoodIn deadly peril to do her good,And win the fiery antidote:Then joining hands to little hands 560Would bid them cling together,'For there is no friend like a sisterIn calm or stormy weather;To cheer one on the tedious way,To fetch one if one goes astray,To lift one if one totters down,To strengthen whilst one stands.'IN THE ROUND TOWER AT JHANSIJune 8, 1857A hundred, a thousand to one; even so;Not a hope in the world remained:The swarming howling wretches belowGained and gained and gained.Skene looked at his pale young wife:—'Is the time come?'—'The time is come!'—Young, strong, and so full of life:The agony struck them dumb.Close his arm about her now,Close her cheek to his, 10Close the pistol to her brow—God forgive them this!'Will it hurt much?'—'No, mine own:I wish I could bear the pang for both.''I wish I could bear the pang alone:Courage, dear, I am not loth.'Kiss and kiss: 'It is not painThus to kiss and die.One kiss more.'—'And yet one again.'—'Good-bye.'—'Good-bye.' 20DREAM LANDWhere sunless rivers weepTheir waves into the deep,She sleeps a charmèd sleep:Awake her not.Led by a single star,She came from very farTo seek where shadows areHer pleasant lot.She left the rosy morn,She left the fields of corn, 10For twilight cold and lornAnd water springs.Through sleep, as through a veil,She sees the sky look pale,And hears the nightingaleThat sadly sings.Rest, rest, a perfect restShed over brow and breast;Her face is toward the west,The purple land. 20She cannot see the grainRipening on hill and plain;She cannot feel the rainUpon her hand.Rest, rest, for evermoreUpon a mossy shore;Rest, rest at the heart's coreTill time shall cease:Sleep that no pain shall wake;Night that no morn shall break 30Till joy shall overtakeHer perfect peace.AT HOMEWhen I was dead, my spirit turnedTo seek the much-frequented house:I passed the door, and saw my friendsFeasting beneath green orange boughs;From hand to hand they pushed the wine,They sucked the pulp of plum and peach;They sang, they jested, and they laughed,For each was loved of each.I listened to their honest chat:Said one: 'To-morrow we shall be 10Plod plod along the featureless sands,And coasting miles and miles of sea.'Said one: 'Before the turn of tideWe will achieve the eyrie-seat.'Said one: 'To-morrow shall be likeTo-day, but much more sweet.''To-morrow,' said they, strong with hope,And dwelt upon the pleasant way:'To-morrow,' cried they, one and all,While no one spoke of yesterday. 20Their life stood full at blessed noon;I, only I, had passed away:'To-morrow and to-day,' they cried;I was of yesterday.I shivered comfortless, but castNo chill across the tablecloth;I, all-forgotten, shivered, sadTo stay, and yet to part how loth:I passed from the familiar room,I who from love had passed away, 30Like the remembrance of a guestThat tarrieth but a day.A TRIADSonnetThree sang of love together: one with lipsCrimson, with cheeks and bosom in a glow,Flushed to the yellow hair and finger-tips;And one there sang who soft and smooth as snowBloomed like a tinted hyacinth at a show;And one was blue with famine after love,Who like a harpstring snapped rang harsh and lowThe burden of what those were singing of.One shamed herself in love; one temperatelyGrew gross in soulless love, a sluggish wife;One famished died for love. Thus two of threeTook death for love and won him after strife;One droned in sweetness like a fattened bee:All on the threshold, yet all short of life.LOVE FROM THE NORTHI had a love in soft south land,Beloved through April far in May;He waited on my lightest breath,And never dared to say me nay.He saddened if my cheer was sad,But gay he grew if I was gay;We never differed on a hair,My yes his yes, my nay his nay.The wedding hour was come, the aislesWere flushed with sun and flowers that day; 10I pacing balanced in my thoughts:'It's quite too late to think of nay.'—My bridegroom answered in his turn,Myself had almost answered 'yea:'When through the flashing nave I heardA struggle and resounding 'nay.'Bridemaids and bridegroom shrank in fear,But I stood high who stood at bay:'And if I answer yea, fair Sir,What man art thou to bar with nay?' 20He was a strong man from the north,Light-locked, with eyes of dangerous grey:'Put yea by for another timeIn which I will not say thee nay.'He took me in his strong white arms,He bore me on his horse awayO'er crag, morass, and hairbreadth pass,But never asked me yea or nay.He made me fast with book and bell,With links of love he makes me stay; 30Till now I've neither heart nor powerNor will nor wish to say him nay.WINTER RAINEvery valley drinks,Every dell and hollow:Where the kind rain sinks and sinks,Green of Spring will follow.Yet a lapse of weeksBuds will burst their edges,Strip their wool-coats, glue-coats, streaks,In the woods and hedges;Weave a bower of loveFor birds to meet each other, 10Weave a canopy aboveNest and egg and mother.But for fattening rainWe should have no flowers,Never a bud or leaf againBut for soaking showers;Never a mated birdIn the rocking tree-tops,Never indeed a flock or herdTo graze upon the lea-crops. 20Lambs so woolly white,Sheep the sun-bright leas on,They could have no grass to biteBut for rain in season.We should find no mossIn the shadiest places,Find no waving meadow grassPied with broad-eyed daisies:But miles of barren sand,With never a son or daughter, 30Not a lily on the land,Or lily on the water.COUSIN KATEI was a cottage maidenHardened by sun and air,Contented with my cottage mates,Not mindful I was fair.Why did a great lord find me out,And praise my flaxen hair?Why did a great lord find me outTo fill my heart with care?He lured me to his palace home—Woe's me for joy thereof— 10To lead a shameless shameful life,His plaything and his love.He wore me like a silken knot,He changed me like a glove;So now I moan, an unclean thing,Who might have been a dove.O Lady Kate, my cousin Kate,You grew more fair than I:He saw you at your father's gate,Chose you, and cast me by. 20He watched your steps along the lane,Your work among the rye;He lifted you from mean estateTo sit with him on high.Because you were so good and pureHe bound you with his ring:The neighbours call you good and pure,Call me an outcast thing.Even so I sit and howl in dust,You sit in gold and sing: 30Now which of us has tenderer heart?You had the stronger wing.O cousin Kate, my love was true,Your love was writ in sand:If he had fooled not me but you,If you stood where I stand,He'd not have won me with his loveNor bought me with his land;I would have spit into his faceAnd not have taken his hand. 40Yet I've a gift you have not got,And seem not like to get:For all your clothes and wedding-ringI've little doubt you fret.My fair-haired son, my shame, my pride,Cling closer, closer yet:Your father would give lands for oneTo wear his coronet.NOBLE SISTERS'Now did you mark a falcon,Sister dear, sister dear,Flying toward my windowIn the morning cool and clear?With jingling bells about her neck,But what beneath her wing?It may have been a ribbon,Or it may have been a ring.'—'I marked a falcon swoopingAt the break of day; 10And for your love, my sister dove,I 'frayed the thief away.'—'Or did you spy a ruddy hound,Sister fair and tall,Went snuffing round my garden bound,Or crouched by my bower wall?With a silken leash about his neck;But in his mouth may beA chain of gold and silver links,Or a letter writ to me.'— 20'I heard a hound, highborn sister,Stood baying at the moon;I rose and drove him from your wallLest you should wake too soon.'—'Or did you meet a pretty pageSat swinging on the gate;Sat whistling whistling like a bird,Or may be slept too late;With eaglets broidered on his cap,And eaglets on his glove? 30If you had turned his pockets out,You had found some pledge of love.'—'I met him at this daybreak,Scarce the east was red:Lest the creaking gate should anger you,I packed him home to bed.'—'Oh patience, sister. Did you seeA young man tall and strong,Swift-footed to uphold the rightAnd to uproot the wrong, 40Come home across the desolate seaTo woo me for his wife?And in his heart my heart is locked,And in his life my life.'—'I met a nameless man, sister,Hard by your chamber door:I said: Her husband loves her much.And yet she loves him more.'—'Fie, sister, fie, a wicked lie,A lie, a wicked lie, 50I have none other love but him,Nor will have till I die.And you have turned him from our door,