A Street Fight. (To Mr F - - .) {38}

Sir, we approve your curling lip and nose
    At this vile sight.
These men, these women are brute beasts? - Who knows,
    Sir, but that you are right?

Panders and harlots, rogues and thieves and worse,
    We are a crew
Whose pitiful plunder's honoured in the purse
    Of gentlemen like you.

Whom holy Competition's taught (like us)
    "What's thine is mine!" -
How we must love you who have made us thus,
    You may perhaps divine!

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Francis William Lauderdale Adams (27 September 1862 – 4 September 1893) was an English writer, poet, dramatist, and social reformer. His literary work often reflected his radical socialist views. Adams lived a life marred by poverty and struggles with his health, eventually committing suicide at the age of 30. Despite his brief life, his contributions to literature and social thought remain significant.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

To My Friend Sydney Jephcott, With A Copy Of My "Poetical Works."

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

To An Unionist.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

Art.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

Analogy. (To D - - L - - .)

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

English

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The "Slugging"-Match.

        "A first-class professional fight!"
            I'm really doing the town!
        There were thousands on thousands to-night
            To see a man knock a man down.
        Two dollars I willingly (?) paid
            To view all this muscle and brawn;
        'Twas rather too much, I'm afraid,
            Or seemed so, the minute 'twas gone.

                    *            *            *            *            *

        And yet 'tis a study to see
            The rage gladiatorial of Rome
        And grim Spanish bull-baiting glee
            Adopt an American home!
        That blood-thirsty, murderous spite
            Men loudly condemn - and possess!
        Besieged New York City last night,
            With first-class financia...

William McKendree Carleton

In The Street. Lord - - .

You have done well, we say it. You are dead,
    And, of the man that with the right hand takes
Less than the left hand gives, let it be said
    He has done something for our wretched sakes.
For those to whom you gave their daily bread
    Rancid with God-loathed "charity," their drink
Putrid with man-loathed "sin," we bow our head
    Grateful, as the great hearse goes by, and think.
Yes, you have fed the flesh and starved the soul
    Of thousands of us; you have taught too well
The rich are little gods beyond control,
    Save of your big God of the heaven and hell.
We thank you. This was pretty once, and right.
Now it wears rather thin. My lord, good night!

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

In An East End Hovel. To A Workman, A Would-Be Suicide.

Man of despair and death,
Bought and slaved in the gangs,
Starved and stripped and left
To the pitiful pitiless night,
Away with your selfish thoughts!
Touch not your ignorant life!
Are there no masters of slaves,
Jeering, cynical, strong -
Are there no brigands (say),
With the words of Christ on their lips
And the daggers under their cloaks -
Is there not one of these
That you can steal on and kill?
O as the Swiss mountaineer
Dogged on the perilous heights
His disciplined conqueror foes: {39a}
Caught up one in his arms
And, laughing exultantly,
Plunged with him to the abyss:
So let it be with you!
An eye for an eye, and a tooth
For a tooth, and a life for a life!
Tell it, this hateful strong
Contemptuous hypocrite world,

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

The Prize Fight

"I am a boxer, who does not inflict blows on the air, but I hit hard and straight at my own body." -- 1 Cor. ix. 26 (WEYMOUTH'S Translation).

'T'was breakfast time, and outside in the street
The factory men went by with hurrying feet.
And on the bridge, in dim December light,
The newsboys shouted of the great prize fight.
Then, as I dished the bacon, and served out
The porridge, all our youngsters gave a shout.
The letter-box had clicked, and through the din
The Picture News was suddenly pushed in.

John showed the lads the pictures, and explained
Just how the fight took place, and what was gained
By that slim winner. Then, he looked at me
As I sat, busy, pouring out the tea:
"Your mother is a boxer, rightly styled.
She hits the air sometimes, though," and Jo...

Fay Inchfawn

An "Assassin."

. . . They caught them at the bend. He and his son
Sat in the car, revolvers in their laps.
From either side the stone-walled wintry road
There flashed thin fire-streaks in the rainy dusk.
The father swayed and fell, shot through the chest.
The son was up, but one more fire-streak leaped
Close from the pitch-black of a thick-set bush
Not five yards from him, and lit all the face
Of him whose sweetheart walked the Dublin streets
For lust of him who gave one yell and fell
Flat on the stony road, a sweltering corse.
Then they came out, the men who did this thing,
And looked upon their hatred's retribution,
While heedlessly the rattling car fled on.
Grey-haired old wolf, your letch for peasants' blood,
For peasants' sweat turned gold and silver and bronze,
Is done...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Aux Ternes. {46} (Paris.)

SHE. - "Up and down, up and down,
            From early eve to early day.
        Life is quicker in the town;
            When you've leisure, anyway!

        "Down and up, down and up!
            O will no one stop and speak?
        I would really like to sup,
            And my limbs are heavy and weak.

        "What's my price, sir? I'm no Jew.
            If with me you wish to sleep,
        'Tis five francs, sir. Surely you
            Will admit that that is cheap?"

HE. - "Christ, if you are not stone blind,
        Stone deaf also, you know it is
    Christian towns leave far behind
        Sodom and thos...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams