IV THE BALLAD SINGERS Where seven fair Streets to one tall Column draw, Two Nymphs have ta'en their stand, in hats of straw; Their yellower necks huge beads of amber grace, And by their trade they're of the Sirens' race:

o' this campaign, or be run out of town, neck an' crop!

what thou wouldst, because not otherwise could I teach the stiff-necked his folly.

When horses in the wall-girt intake stood, Unshaded, eying far below, the flood, Crouded behind the swain, in mute distress, With forward neck the closing gate to press; And long, with wistful gaze, his walk survey'd, 'Till dipp'd his pathway in the river shade; 1793.]

We gathered speed an' ripped off a section o' their bulwarks, an' roared along neck an' neck with 'em.

The men sat in their black cloaks and black low hats, and white collars, the women, in wonderful glittering garments of Lombard stuffs, wore on their heads and necks ornaments of gold and pearls, while the silver Sabbath lamp cast its festive light on the cheerful, devout faces of parents and children.

And when I meet you, your smile it is colder; Statelier, prouder your features have grown; Rounder each white and magnificent shoulder; (Rather too low-necked your waist, I must own.) Jewelled and muslined, your rich hair gold-netted, Queenly 'mid flattering voices you move, Half to your own native graces indebted, Half to the station and fortune you love.

And there he was sitting and smiling like a blooming Old Man of the Sea, Eating my pork and beans up and necking my whisky and tea.