Page:The Poems of William Blake (Shepherd, 1887).djvu/52

"Where cheating is, there's mischief there."
But Roger still pursues the chace,—
"He sees! he sees!" cries softly Grace;
"O Roger, thou, unskill'd in art
"Must, surer bound, go through thy part!"
Now, Kitty, pert, repeats the rhymes
And Roger turns him round three times,
Then pauses ere he starts; but Dick
Was mischief-bent upon a trick;
Down on his hands and knees he lay
Directly in the Blind-man's way,
Then cries out "hem!" Hodge heard, and ran
With hood-wink'd chance—sure of his man;
But down he came.—Alas, how frail
Our best of hopes, how soon they fail!
With crimson drops he stains the ground,
Confusion startles all around!
Poor piteous Dick supports his head,
And fain would cure the hurt he made;
But Kitty hasted with a key
And down his back they straight convey
The cold relief—the blood is stay'd
And Hodge again holds up his head.
Such are the fortunes of the game,
And those who play should stop the same
By wholesome laws, such as—all those
Who on the blinded man impose,
Stand in his stead; as long agone
When men were first a nation grown.