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James Reeves

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The Rose and Star

If you would sing your songs at the Rose and Star,
     You will find company there of a sort, and wine ;
Though the star is tarnished and the rose outmoded,
     It is an ancient and honourable sign.

If you would sing there, provide yourself with tunes 
     For which you must barter with the Queen of Hell,
She will demand the apples from your pack,
     Gold out of your pocket, your straight sword as well.

If you would gain a hearing, you must have them,
     Even though it take the heart out of your breast ;
Blind and blind-drunk was the old Irish fiddler
     From whom the devil her husband stole the best.

That company of loungers, thieves and girls
     Will not substantially repay devotion ;
But think your song rewarded if you note
     A hush, a sigh, a sniffle of emotion.

One there I knew who, desperate and young,
     Sold the black Queen his breath, and won the prize ;
It was a gold crown worked by his fair mistress
     From her own smiles, with diamonds from her eyes.

If you would sing your songs at the Rose and Star,
     You would find company there of a sort, and wine ;
Though birds have fouled the star and the rose is worm-holed
     It is an ancient and honourable sign.

 

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