Part 50

‘A very simple soul, a high courage tempered with sound and stubborn conceit, is stronger than all the stars in their courses. So I confess truly that you saved the village, Nick.’

‘I stubborn? I stiff-necked? I ascribed all my poor success, under God’s good providence, to Divine Astrology. Not to me the glory! You talk as that dear weeping ass Jack Marget preached before I went back to my work in Red Lion House, Spitalfields.’

‘Oh! Stammering Jack preached, did he? They say he loses his stammer in the pulpit.’

‘And his wits with it. He delivered a most idolatrous discourse when the plague was stayed. He took for his text: “The wise man that delivered the city.” I could have given him a better, such as: “There is a time for--“’

‘But what made you go to church to hear him?’ Puck interrupted. ‘Wail Attersole was your lawfully appointed preacher, and a dull dog he was!’

Mr Culpeper wriggled uneasily.

‘The vulgar,’ said he, ‘the old crones and--ahem!---the children, Alison and the others, they dragged me to the House of Rimmon by the hand. I was in two minds to inform on Jack for maintaining the mummeries of the falsely-called Church, which, I’ll prove to you, are founded merely on ancient fables--’

‘Stick to your herbs and planets,’ said Puck, laughing. ‘You should have told the magistrates, Nick, and had Jack fined. Again, why did you neglect your plain duty?’

‘Because--because I was kneeling, and praying, and weeping with the rest of ‘em at the Altar-rails. In medicine this is called the Hysterical Passion. It may be--it may be.’

‘That’s as may be,’ said Puck. They heard him turn the hay. ‘Why, your hay is half hedge-brishings,’ he said. ‘You don’t expect a horse to thrive on oak and ash and thorn leaves, do you?’

Ping-ping-ping went the bicycle bell round the corner. Nurse was coming back from the mill.

‘Is it all right?’ Una called.

‘All quite right,’ Nurse called back. ‘They’re to be christened next Sunday.’

‘What? What?’ They both leaned forward across the half-door. It could not have been properly fastened, for it opened, and tilted them out with hay and leaves sticking all over them.

‘Come on! We must get those two twins’ names,’ said Una, and they charged uphill shouting over the hedge, till Nurse slowed up and told them. When they returned, old Middenboro had got out of his stall, and they spent a lively ten minutes chasing him in again by starlight.

‘Our Fathers of Old’

Excellent herbs had our fathers of old-- Excellent herbs to ease their pain-- Alexanders and Marigold, Eyebright, Orris, and Elecampane, Basil, Rocket, Valerian, Rue, (Almost singing themselves they run) Vervain, Dittany, Call-me-to-you-- Cowslip, Melilot, Rose of the Sun. Anything green that grew out of the mould Was an excellent herb to our fathers of old.

Wonderful tales had our fathers of old-- Wonderful tales of the herbs and the stars-- The Sun was Lord of the Marigold, Basil and Rocket belonged to Mars. Pat as a sum in division it goes-- (Every plant had a star bespoke)-- Who but Venus should govern the Rose? Who but Jupiter own the Oak? Simply and gravely the facts are told In the wonderful books of our fathers of old.

Wonderful little, when all is said, Wonderful little our fathers knew. Half their remedies cured you dead-- Most of their teaching was quite untrue-- ‘Look at the stars when a patient is ill, (Dirt has nothing to do with disease,) Bleed and blister as much as you will, Blister and bleed him as oft as you please.’ Whence enormous and manifold Errors were made by our fathers of old.

Yet when the sickness was sore in the land, And neither planet nor herb assuaged, They took their lives in their lancet-hand And, oh, what a wonderful war they waged! Yes, when the crosses were chalked on the door-- Yes, when the terrible dead-cart rolled, Excellent courage our fathers bore-- Excellent heart had our fathers of old. Not too learned, but nobly bold, Into the fight went our fathers of old.

If it be certain, as Galen says, And sage Hippocrates holds as much-- ‘That those afflicted by doubts and dismays Are mightily helped by a dead man’s touch,’ Then, be good to us, stars above! Then, be good to us, herbs below! We are afflicted by what we can prove; We are distracted by what we know-- So--ah, so! Down from your Heaven or up from your mould, Send us the hearts of our fathers of old!

SIMPLE SIMON

The Thousandth Man

One man in a thousand, Solomon says, Will stick more close than a brother. And it’s worth while seeking him half your days If you find him before the other. Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend on what the world sees in you, But the Thousandth Man will stand your friend With the whole round world agin you.

‘Tis neither promise nor prayer nor show Will settle the finding for ‘ee. Nine hundred and ninety-nine of ‘em go By your looks or your acts or your glory. But if he finds you and you find him, The rest of the world don’t matter; For the Thousandth Man will sink or swim With you in any water.

You can use his purse with no more shame Than he uses yours for his spendings; And laugh and mention it just the same As though there had been no lendings. Nine hundred and ninety-nine of ‘em call For silver and gold in their dealings; But the Thousandth Man he’s worth ‘em all, Because you can show him your feelings!

His wrong’s your wrong, and his right’s your right, In season or out of season. Stand up and back it in all men’s sight-- With that for your only reason! Nine hundred and ninety-nine can’t bide The shame or mocking or laughter, But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side To the gallows-foot--and after!

Simple Simon