The Collected Works in Verse and Prose of William Butler Yeats. Volume 2 of 8. William Butler Yeats

I would have all know that when all falls

      In ruin, poetry calls out in joy,

      Being the scattering hand, the bursting pod,

      The victim’s joy among the holy flame,

      God’s laughter at the shattering of the world.

      And now that joy laughs out, and weeps and burns

      On these bare steps.

YOUNGEST PUPIL

      O master, do not die!

OLDEST PUPIL

      Trouble him with no useless argument.

      Be silent! There is nothing we can do

      Except find out the King and kneel to him,

      And beg our ancient right.

      For here are some

      To say whatever we could say and more,

      And fare as badly. Come, boy, that is no use.

[Raises YOUNGEST PUPIL.

      If it seem well that we beseech the King,

      Lay down your harps and trumpets on the stones

      In silence, and come with me silently.

      Come with slow footfalls, and bow all your heads,

      For a bowed head becomes a mourner best.

[They lay harps and trumpets down one by one, and then go out very solemnly and slowly, following one another. Enter MAYOR, TWO CRIPPLES, and BRIAN, an old servant. The mayor, who has been heard, before he came upon the stage, muttering ‘Chief Poet,’ ‘Ireland,’ etc., crosses in front of SEANCHAN to the other side of the steps. BRIAN takes food out of basket. The CRIPPLES are watching the basket. The MAYOR has an Ogham stick in his hand

MAYOR

[As he crosses.]

      ‘Chief Poet,’ ‘Ireland,’ ‘Townsman,’ ‘Grazing land,’

      Those are the words I have to keep in mind —

      ‘Chief Poet,’ ‘Ireland,’ ‘Townsman,’ ‘Grazing land.’

      I have the words. They are all upon the Ogham.

      ‘Chief Poet,’ ‘Ireland,’ ‘Townsman,’ ‘Grazing land.’

      But what’s their order?

[He keeps muttering over his speech during what follows

FIRST CRIPPLE

      The King were rightly served

      If Seanchan drove his good luck away.

      What’s there about a king, that’s in the world

      From birth to burial like another man,

      That he should change old customs, that were in it

      As long as ever the world has been a world?

SECOND CRIPPLE

      If I were king I would not meddle with him,

      For there is something queer about a poet.

      I knew of one that would be making rhyme

      Under a thorn at crossing of three roads.

      He was as ragged as ourselves, and yet

      He was no sooner dead than every thorn tree

      From Inchy to Kiltartan withered away.

FIRST CRIPPLE

      The King is but a fool!

MAYOR

      I am getting ready.

FIRST CRIPPLE

      A poet has power from beyond the world,

      That he may set our thoughts upon old times,

      And lucky queens and little holy fish

      That rise up every seventh year —

MAYOR

      Hush! hush!

FIRST CRIPPLE

      To cure the crippled.

MAYOR

      I am half ready now.

BRIAN

      There’s not a mischief I’d begrudge the King

      If it were any other —

MAYOR

      Hush! I am ready.

BRIAN

      That died to get it. I have brought out the food,

      And if my master will not eat of it,

      I’ll home and get provision for his wake,

      For that’s no great way off. Well, have your say,

      But don’t be long about it.

MAYOR

[Goes close to SEANCHAN.]

      Chief Poet of Ireland,

      I am the Mayor of your own town Kinvara,

      And I am come to tell you that the news

      Of this great trouble with the King of Gort

      Has plunged us in deep sorrow – part for you,

      Our honoured townsman, part for our good town.

[Begins to hesitate; scratching his head.

      But what comes now? Something about the King.

BRIAN

      Get on! get on! The food is all set out.

MAYOR

      Don’t hurry me.

FIRST CRIPPLE

      Give us a taste of it.

      He’ll not begrudge it.

SECOND CRIPPLE

      Let them that have their limbs

      Starve if they will. We have to keep in mind

      The stomach God has left us.

MAYOR

      Hush! I have it!

      The King was said to be most friendly to us,

      And we have reason, as you’ll recollect,

      For thinking that he was about to give

      Those grazing lands inland we so much need,

      Being pinched between the water and the stones.

      Our mowers mow with knives between the stones;

      The sea washes the meadows. You know well

      We have asked nothing but what’s reasonable.

SEANCHAN

      Reason in plenty. Yellowy white hair,

      A hollow face, and not too many teeth.

      How comes it he has been so long in the world

      And not found Reason out?

[While saying this he has turned half round. He hardly looks at the MAYOR

BRIAN

[Trying to pull MAYOR away.]

      What good is there

      In telling him what he has heard all day!

      I will set food before him.

MAYOR

[Shoving BRIAN away.]

      Don’t hurry me!

      It’s small respect you’re showing to the town!

      Get farther off! [To SEANCHAN.] We would not have you think,

      Weighty as these considerations are,

      That they have been as weighty in our minds

      As our desire that one we take much