J. F. When do we begin wheat harvest?

  3rd Neighbour. Next Thursday in the ten-acre; the crop is heavy and the weather looks quite settled; so we shall have a jolly time of it.

  J. F. Well, I’m glad I know in good time; for I never like to miss seeing the first row of reapers going into the corn. Is there anything else?

  W. J. Well, there’s one troublesome business, chairman (looks at C. N., who trembles and moans). There’s that dog we caught, that thief, that useless beast. What is to be done with him?

  C. N. (Aside, That’s me! that’s me! To think that a justice should be spoken of in such language! What am I to do? What am I to do?)

  2nd Neighbour. Well, chairman, I think we must shoot him. Once a thief always a thief, you see, with that kind of brute. I’m sorry, because he has been so badly brought up; and though he is an ugly dog, he is big and burly; but I must say that I think it must be done, and as soon as possible. He’ll be after the girls if we don’t do it at once!

  C. N. (Aside: What! have they got hold of that story, then?)

  J. F. Well, neighbours, what’s to be said? anybody against it? Is this unpleasant business agreed to?

  All. Agreed, agreed.

  J. F. Well, then, let the dog be shot. Bill, it’s your turn for an ugly job this time: you must do it.

  W. J. Well, if it must be, it must. I’ll go and get a gun in a minute.

  C. N. Oh, God! to think of their disposing of a fellow-man’s life with so little ceremony! And probably they will go and eat their dinners afterwards and think nothing of it. (Throwing himself on his knees before Jack Freeman.) Oh, your Socialist worship! Oh, citizen my lord! spare me, spare me! Send me to prison, load me with chains, but spare my life!

  J. F. Why, what ails the man? Chains! we don’t use chains for that sort of thing. They’re good to fasten up boats with, and for carts, and such like; so why should we waste them by ornamenting you with them? And as to prison, we can’t send you to prison, because we haven’t got one. How could we have one? who would be the jailer? No, no; we can’t be bothered with you in prison. You must learn to behave decently.

  C. N. What! have you no punishment but death, then? O! what am I to do? what am I to do?

  1st Neighbour. Do? Why, behave decently.

  C. N. But how can I behave decently when I’m dead? (Moans.)

  2nd Neighbour. But, neighbour, you must die some time or another, you know. Make the most of your time while you are alive.

  C. N. Have you the heart to say such things to a man whom you are going to shoot in a few minutes? How horrible! Oh, look here! if you haven’t got a prison, build one for me! or make one out of a cellar, and lock me up in it; but don’t shoot me — don’t!

  W. J. Well, old acquaintance, to want a prison all to your own cheek! This is individualism, with a vengeance! It beats Auberon Herbert. But who is going to shoot you?

  C. N. Why, you. He said shoot the dog (weeping).

  W. J. Well, citizen, I must say that either your estimate of yourself is modest, or your conscience is bad, that you must take that title to yourself! No; it is a bad business, but not so bad as that. It’s not you that we’re going to shoot, but a poor devil of a dog — a real dog, with a tail, you know — who has taken to killing sheep. And I’m sorry to say that social ethics have given me the job of shooting him. But come, now, you shall do it for me: you used to be a great upholder of capital punishment.

  C. N. But what are you going to do with me, then? How are you going to punish me?

  J. F. Punish you? how can we punish you? who do you think is going to do such work as that! People punish others because they like to; and we don’t like to. Once more, learn to live decently.

  G. N. But how am I to live?

  J. F. You must work a little.

  C. N. But what at, since you object to lawyers?

  J. F. Look round you, friend, at the fields all yellowing for harvest, — we will find you work to do.

  C. N. (Aside: Ah, I see. This means hard labour for life, after all. Well, I must submit. Unhappy Nupkins! To Freeman) But who is to employ me? You will have to find me a master; and perhaps he won’t like to employ me.

  J. F. My friend, we no more have masters than we have prisons: the first make the second. You must employ yourself: and you must also employ something else.

  C. N. What? I don’t understand.

  J. F. Mother Earth, and the traditions and devices of all the generations of men whom she has nourished. All that is for you, Nupkins, if you only knew it.

  C. N. I still do not comprehend your apologue.

  J. F. No? Well, we must put aside abstractions and get to the concrete. What’s this, citizen? (showing a spade.)

  C. N. That is an instrument for effodiation.

  J. F. Otherwise called a spade. Well, to use your old jargon, citizen, the sentence of this court is that you do take this instrument of effodiation, commonly called a spade, and that you do effodiate your livelihood therewith; in other words, that you do dig potatoes and other roots and worts during the pleasure of this court. And, to drop jargon, since you are so badly educated our friend Robert Pinch — Mary’s husband — will show you how to do it. Is that agreed to, neighbours?

  All. Agreed, agreed.

  W. J. (rather surlily). I don’t think he will get on well. Now he knows we are not going to serve him out, he is beginning to look sour on us for being happy. You see, he will be trying some of his old lawyers’ tricks again.

  J. F. Well, Bill, it won’t much matter. He can’t hurt us; so we will hope the best for him.

  M. P. Should we hurt his feelings by being a little merry in his presence now?

  J. F. Well, I think we may risk it. Let those of you who are not too lazy to dance, as I am, do so to the tune that sprang up at the dawn of freedom in the days of our great-grandfathers.

  [They dance round Citizen Nupkins, singing the following words to the tune of the “Carmagnole”:

  What’s this that the days and the days have done?

  Man’s lordship over man hath gone.

  How fares it, then, with high and low?

  Equal on earth, they thrive and grow.

  Bright is the sun for everyone;

  Dance we, dance we the Carmagnole.

  How deal ye, then, with pleasure and pain?

  Alike we share and bear the twain.

  And what’s the craft whereby ye live?

  Earth and man’s work to all men give.

  How crown ye excellence of worth?

  With leave to serve all men on earth.

  What gain that lordship’s past and done?

  World’s wealth for all and every one.

  [Freeman and Nupkins come to the front.

  * * * * *

  J. F. Well, Nupkins, you see you have got the better of us damned Socialists after all. For in times past you used to bully us and send us to prison and hang us, and we had to put up with it; and now you and yours are no longer masters, there are no masters, and there is nobody to bully you. How do you like it, old fellow? (clapping him on the shoulder.)

  C. N. (bursting into tears). A world without lawyers! — oh, dear! oh, dear! To think that I should have to dig potatoes and see everybody happy!

  J. F. Well, Nupkins, you must bear it. And for my part, I can’t be very sorry that you feel it so keenly. When scoundrels lament that they can no longer be scoundrels for lack of opportunity, it is certain that the tables are turned.

  THE END

  The Poetry Collections

  The Red House, Bexleyheath, where Morris lived from 1859-1865

  THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE, AND OTHER POEMS

  This poetry collection was first published in 1857 and was largely self-funded. It sold poorly and the negative reviews put Morris off publishing further poems for eight years. Based largely on an episode in Sir Thomas Malory’s Morte d’Arthur (demonstrating Morris’ predilection for mediaeval subject matter) the poem is a dramatic monologue from the point of view of Guenevere, the wife of King Arthur, who defends herself after being accused of adultery with the King’s trusted knight, Sir Launcelot. Morris’ use of archaic terms is characteristic of his medievalism – and the poem itself is part of a wider Victorian tendency to see the mediaeval period as one of a lost pre-industrial simplicity. Yet, there is also a trace of the more modern influence of Tennyson in the poem’s complex imagery and psychological insight – as well as the use of the dramatic monologue, a form invented by Morris’ contemporary, Robert Browning.

  Title page of the first edition

  CONTENTS

  THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE

  KING ARTHUR’S TOMB

  SIR GALAHAD, A CHRISTMAS MYSTERY

  THE CHAPEL IN LYONESS

  SIR PETER HARPDON’S END

  RAPUNZEL

  CONCERNING GEFFRAY TESTE NOIRE

  A GOOD KNIGHT IN PRISON

  OLD LOVE

  THE GILLIFLOWER OF GOLD

  SHAMEFUL DEATH

  THE EVE OF CRECY

  THE JUDGMENT OF GOD

  THE LITTLE TOWER

  THE SAILING OF THE SWORD

  SPELL-BOUND

  THE WIND

  THE BLUE CLOSET

  THE TUNE OF SEVEN TOWERS

  GOLDEN WINGS

  THE HAYSTACK IN THE FLOODS

  TWO RED ROSES ACROSS THE MOON

  WELLAND RIVER

  RIDING TOGETHER

  FATHER JOHN’S WAR-SONG

  SIR GILES’ WAR-SONG

  NEAR AVALON

  PRAISE OF MY LADY

  SUMMER DAWN

  IN PRISON

  A page from the later Kelmscott Press edition of 1892

  THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE

  But, knowing now that they would have her speak,

  She threw her wet hair backward from her brow,

  Her hand close to her mouth touching her cheek,

  As though she had had there a shameful blow,

  And feeling it shameful to feel ought but shame

  All through her heart, yet felt her cheek burned so,

  She must a little touch it; like one lame

  She walked away from Gauwaine, with her head

  Still lifted up; and on her cheek of flame

  The tears dried quick; she stopped at last and said:

  O knights and lords, it seems but little skill

  To talk of well-known things past now and dead.

  God wot I ought to say, I have done ill,

  And pray you all forgiveness heartily!

  Because you must be right, such great lords; still

  Listen, suppose your time were come to die,

  And you were quite alone and very weak;

  Yea, laid a dying while very mightily

  The wind was ruffling up the narrow streak

  Of river through your broad lands running well:

  Suppose a hush should come, then some one speak:

  ‘One of these cloths is heaven, and one is hell,

  Now choose one cloth for ever; which they be,

  I will not tell you, you must somehow tell

  Of your own strength and mightiness; here, see!’

  Yea, yea, my lord, and you to ope your eyes,

  At foot of your familiar bed to see

  A great God’s angel standing, with such dyes,

  Not known on earth, on his great wings, and hands,

  Held out two ways, light from the inner skies

  Showing him well, and making his commands

  Seem to be God’s commands, moreover, too,

  Holding within his hands the cloths on wands;

  And one of these strange choosing cloths was blue,

  Wavy and long, and one cut short and red;

  No man could tell the better of the two.

  After a shivering half-hour you said:

  ‘God help! heaven’s colour, the blue;’ and he said, ‘hell.’

  Perhaps you then would roll upon your bed,

  And cry to all good men that loved you well,

  ‘Ah Christ! if only I had known, known, known;’

  Launcelot went away, then I could tell,

  Like wisest man how all things would be, moan,

  And roll and hurt myself, and long to die,

  And yet fear much to die for what was sown.

  Nevertheless you, O Sir Gauwaine, lie,

  Whatever may have happened through these years,

  God knows I speak truth, saying that you lie.

  Her voice was low at first, being full of tears,

  But as it cleared, it grew full loud and shrill,

  Growing a windy shriek in all men’s ears,

  A ringing in their startled brains, until

  She said that Gauwaine lied, then her voice sunk,

  And her great eyes began again to fill,

  Though still she stood right up, and never shrunk,

  But spoke on bravely, glorious lady fair!

  Whatever tears her full lips may have drunk,

  She stood, and seemed to think, and wrung her hair,

  Spoke out at last with no more trace of shame,

  With passionate twisting of her body there:

  It chanced upon a day that Launcelot came

  To dwell at Arthur’s court: at Christmas-time

  This happened; when the heralds sung his name,

  Son of King Ban of Benwick, seemed to chime

  Along with all the bells that rang that day,

  O’er the white roofs, with little change of rhyme.

  Christmas and whitened winter passed away,

  And over me the April sunshine came,

  Made very awful with black hail-clouds, yea

  And in the Summer I grew white with flame,

  And bowed my head down: Autumn, and the sick

  Sure knowledge things would never be the same,

  However often Spring might be most thick

  Of blossoms and buds, smote on me, and I grew

  Careless of most things, let the clock tick, tick,

  To my unhappy pulse, that beat right through

  My eager body; while I laughed out loud,

  And let my lips curl up at false or true,

  Seemed cold and shallow without any cloud.

  Behold my judges, then the cloths were brought;

  While I was dizzied thus, old thoughts would crowd,

  Belonging to the time ere I was bought

  By Arthur’s great name and his little love;

  Must I give up for ever then, I thought,

  That which I deemed would ever round me move

  Glorifying all things; for a little word,

  Scarce ever meant at all, must I now prove

  Stone-cold for ever? Pray you, does the Lord

  Will that all folks should be quite happy and good?

  I love God now a little, if this cord

  Were broken, once for all what striving could

  Make me love anything in earth or heaven?

  So day by day it grew, as if one should

  Slip slowly down some path worn smooth and even,

  Down to a cool sea on a summer day;

  Yet still in slipping there was some small leaven

  Of stretched hands catching small stones by the way,

  Until one surely reached the sea at last,

  And felt strange new joy as the worn head lay

  Back, with the hair like sea-weed; yea all past

  Sweat of the forehead, dryness of the lips,

  Washed utterly out by the dear waves o’ercast,

  In the lone sea, far off from any ships!

  Do I not know now of a day in Spring?

  No minute of that wild day ever slips

  From out my memory; I hear thrushes sing,

  And wheresoever I may be, straightway

  Thoughts of it all come up with most fresh sting:

  I was half mad with beauty on that day,

  And went without my ladies all alone,

  In a quiet garden walled round every way;

  I was right joyful of that wall of stone,

  That shut the flowers and trees up with the sky,

  And trebled all the beauty: to the bone,

  Yea right through to my heart, grown very shy

  With weary thoughts, it pierced, and made me glad;

  Exceedingly glad, and I knew verily,

  A little thing just then had made me mad;

  I dared not think, as I was wont to do,

  Sometimes, upon my beauty; If I had

  Held out my long hand up against the blue,

  And, looking on the tenderly darken’d fingers,

  Thought that by rights one ought to see quite through,

  There, see you, where the soft still light yet lingers,

  Round by the edges; what should I have done,

  If this had joined with yellow spotted singers,

  And startling green drawn upward by the sun?

  But shouting, loosed out, see now! all my hair,

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308 309 310 311 312 313 314 315 316 317 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 335 336 337 338 339 340 341 342 343 344 345 346 347 348 349 350 351 352 353 354 355 356 357 358 359 360 361 362 363 364 365 366 367 368 369 370 371 372 373 374 375 376 377 378 379 380 381 382 383 384 385 386 387 388 389 390 391 392 393 394 395 396 397 398 399 400 401 402 403 404 405 406 407 408 409 410 411 412 413 414 415 416 417 418 419 420 421 422 423 424 425 426 427 428 429 430 431 432 433 434 435 436 437 438 439 440 441 442 443 444 445 446 447 448 449 450 451 452 453 454 455 456 457 458 459 460 461 462 463 464 465 466 467 468 469 470 471 472 473 474 475 476 477 478 479 480 481 482 483 484 485 486 487 488 489 490 491 492 493 494 495 496 497 498 499 500 501 502 503 504 505 506 507 508 509 510 511 512 513 514 515 516 517 518 519 520 521 522 523 524 525 526 527 528 529 530 531 532 533 534 535 536 537 538 539 540 541 542 543 544 545 546 547 548 549 550 551 552 553 554 555 556 557 558 559 560 561 562 563 564 565 566 567 568 569 570 571 572 573 574 575 576 577 578 579 580 581 582 583 584 585 586 587 588 589 590 591 592 593 594 595 596 597 598 599 600 601 602 603 604 605 606 607 608 609 610 611 612 613 614 615 616 617 618 619 620 621 622 623 624 625 626 627 628 629 630 631 632 633 634 635 636 637 638 639 640 641 642 643 644 645 646 647 648 649 650 651 652 653 654 655 656 657 658 659 660 661 662 663 664 665 666 667 668 669 670 671 672 673 674 675 676 677 678 679 680 681 682 683 684 685 686 687 688 689 690 691 692 693 694 695 696 697 698 699 700 701 702 703 704 705 706 707 708 709 710 711 712 713 714 715 716 717 718 719 720 721 722 723 724 725 726 727 728 729 730 731 732 733 734 735 736 737 738 739 740 741 742 743 744 745 746 747 748 749 750 751 752 753 754 755 756 757 758 759 760 761 762 763 764 765 766 767 768 769 770 771 772 773 774 775 776 777 778 779 780 781 782 783 784 785 786 787 788 789 790 791 792 793 794 795 796 797 798 799 800 801 802 803 804 805 806 807 808 809 810 811 812 813 814 815 816 817 818 819 820 821 822 823 824 825 826 827 828 829 830 831 832 833 834 835