At length, intolerant of trammels - Wild as the wild Bithynian camels, Wild as the wild sea-eagles--Bob His widowed dam contrives to rob, And thus with great originality Effectuates his personality. Thenceforth his terror-haunted flight He follows through the starry night; And with the early morning breeze, Behold him on the azure seas. The master of a trading dandy Hires Robin for a go of brandy; And all the happy hills of home Vanish beyond the fields of foam.
Ben, meanwhile, like a tin reflector, Attended on the worthy rector; Opened his eyes and held his breath, And flattered to the point of death; And was at last, by that good fairy, Apprenticed to the Apothecary.
So Ben, while Robin chose to roam, A rising chemist was at home, Tended his shop with learned air, Watered his drugs and oiled his hair, And gave advice to the unwary, Like any sleek apothecary.
Meanwhile upon the deep afar Robin the brave was waging war, With other tarry desperadoes About the latitude of Barbadoes. He knew no touch of craven fear; His voice was thunder in the cheer; First, from the main-to'-gallan' high, The skulking merchantmen to spy - The first to bound upon the deck, The last to leave the sinking wreck. His hand was steel, his word was law, His mates regarded him with awe. No pirate in the whole profession Held a more honourable position.
At length, from years of anxious toil, Bold Robin seeks his native soil; Wisely arranges his affairs, And to his native dale repairs. The Bristol SWALLOW sets him down Beside the well-remembered town. He sighs, he spits, he marks the scene, Proudly he treads the village green; And, free from pettiness and rancour, Takes lodgings at the 'Crown and Anchor.'
Strange, when a man so great and good Once more in his home-country stood, Strange that the sordid clowns should show A dull desire to have him go.
His clinging breeks, his tarry hat, The way he swore, the way he spat, A certain quality of manner, Alarming like the pirate's banner - Something that did not seem to suit all - Something, O call it bluff, not brutal - Something at least, howe'er it's called, Made Robin generally black-balled.
His soul was wounded; proud and glum, Alone he sat and swigged his rum, And took a great distaste to men Till he encountered Chemist Ben. Bright was the hour and bright the day That threw them in each other's way; Glad were their mutual salutations, Long their respective revelations. Before the inn in sultry weather They talked of this and that together; Ben told the tale of his indentures, And Rob narrated his adventures.
Last, as the point of greatest weight, The pair contrasted their estate, And Robin, like a boastful sailor, Despised the other for a tailor.
'See,' he remarked, 'with envy, see A man with such a fist as me! Bearded and ringed, and big, and brown, I sit and toss the stingo down. Hear the gold jingle in my bag - All won beneath the Jolly Flag!'
Ben moralised and shook his head: 'You wanderers earn and eat your bread. The foe is found, beats or is beaten, And, either how, the wage is eaten. And after all your pully-hauly Your proceeds look uncommon small-ly. You had done better here to tarry Apprentice to the Apothecary. The silent pirates of the shore Eat and sleep soft, and pocket more
Than any red, robustious ranger Who picks his farthings hot from danger. You clank your guineas on the board; Mine are with several bankers stored. You reckon riches on your digits, You dash in chase of Sals and Bridgets, You drink and risk delirium tremens, Your whole estate a common seaman's! Regard your friend and school companion, Soon to be wed to Miss Trevanion (Smooth, honourable, fat and flowery, With Heaven knows how much land in dowry), Look at me--Am I in good case? Look at my hands, look at my face; Look at the cloth of my apparel; Try me and test me, lock and barrel; And own, to give the devil his due, I have made more of life than you. Yet I nor sought nor risked a life; I shudder at an open knife; The perilous seas I still avoided And stuck to land whate'er betided. I had no gold, no marble quarry, I was a poor apothecary, Yet here I stand, at thirty-eight, A man of an assured estate.'
'Well,' answered Robin--'well, and how?'
The smiling chemist tapped his brow. 'Rob,' he replied, 'this throbbing brain Still worked and hankered after gain. By day and night, to work my will, It pounded like a powder mill; And marking how the world went round A theory of theft it found. Here is the key to right and wrong: STEAL LITTLE, BUT STEAL ALL DAY LONG; And this invaluable plan Marks what is called the Honest Man. When first I served with Doctor Pill, My hand was ever in the till. Now that I am myself a master, My gains come softer still and faster. As thus: on Wednesday, a maid Came to me in the way of trade. Her mother, an old farmer's wife, Required a drug to save her life. 'At once, my dear, at once,' I said, Patted the child upon the head, Bade her be still a loving daughter, And filled the bottle up with water.'
'Well, and the mother?' Robin cried.