Samuel Taylor Coleridge — Recantation: Illustrated in the Story of the Mad Ox

I An Ox, long fed with musty hay,        &nbspAnd work'd with yoke and chain, Was turn'd out on an April day, When fields are in their best array, And growing grasses sparkle gay        &nbspAt once with Sun and rain. II The grass was fine, the Sun was bright—        &nbspWith truth I may aver it; The ox was glad, as well, he might, Thought a green meadow no bad sight, And frisk'd,—to shew his huge delight,        &nbspMuch like a beast of spirit. III 'Stop, neighbours, stop, why these alarms?        &nbspThe ox is only glad!' But still they pour from cots and farms— 'Halloo!' the parish is up in arms, (A hoaxing-hunt has always charms)        &nbsp'Halloo! the ox is mad.' IV The frighted beast scamper'd about—        &nbspPlunge! through the hedge he drove: The mob pursue with hideous rout, A bull-dog fastens on his snout; 'He gores the dog! his tongue hangs out!        &nbspHe's mad, he's mad, by Jove!' V 'Stop, neighbours, stop!' aloud did call A sage of sober hue.        &nbspBut all at once, on him they fall, And women squeak and children squall, 'What? would you have him toss us all?        &nbspAnd dam'me, who are you?' VI Oh! hapless sage! his ears they stun,        &nbspAnd curse him o'er and o'er! 'You bloody-minded dog! (cries one,) To slit your windpipe were good fun, 'Od blast you for an impious son[:]        &nbspOf a Presbyterian wh—re!' VII 'You'd have him gore the Parish-priest,        &nbspAnd run against the altar! You fiend!' the sage his warnings ceas'd, And north and south, and west and east, Halloo! they follow the poor beast,        &nbspMat, Dick, Tom, Bob and Walter. VIII Old Lewis ('twas his evil day),        &nbspStood trembling in his shoes; The ox was his—what cou'd he say? His legs were stiffen'd with dismay, The ox ran o'er him mid the fray,        &nbspAnd gave him his death's bruise. IX The frighted beast ran on—(but here,        &nbspNo tale, (tho' in print, more true is) My Muse stops short in mid career— Nay, gentle Reader, do not sneer! I cannot chuse but drop a tear,        &nbspA tear for good old Lewis!) X The frighted beast ran through the town,        &nbspAll follow'd, boy and dad, Bull-dog, parson, shopman, clown: The publicans rush'd from the Crown, 'Halloo! hamstring him! cut him down!'        &nbspThey drove the poor Ox mad. XI Should you a Rat to madness tease        &nbspWhy ev'n a Rat may plague you: There's no Philosopher but sees That Rage and Fear are one disease— Though that may burn, and this may freeze,        &nbspThey're both alike the Ague. XII And so this Ox, in frantic mood,        &nbspFac'd round like any Bull! The mob turn'd tail, and he pursued, Till they with heat and fright were stew'd, And not a chick of all this brood        &nbspBut had his belly full! XIII Old Nick's astride the beast, 'tis clear!        &nbspOld Nicholas, to a tittle! But all agree he'd disappear, Would but the Parson venture near, And through his teeth,[:] right o'er the steer,        &nbspSquirt out some fasting-spittle. XIV Achilles was a warrior fleet,        &nbspThe Trojans he could worry: Our Parson too was swift of feet, But shew'd it chiefly in retreat: The victor Ox scour'd down the street,        &nbspThe mob fled hurry-scurry. XV Through gardens, lanes and fields new-plough'd,        &nbspThrough his hedge, and through her hedge, He plung'd and toss'd and bellow'd loud— Till in his madness he grew proud To see this helter-skelter crowd        &nbspThat had more wrath than courage! XVI Alas! to mend the breaches wide        &nbspHe made for these poor ninnies, They all must work, whate'er betide, Both days and months, and pay beside (Sad news for Av'rice and for Pride),        &nbspA sight of golden guineas! XVII But here once more to view did pop        &nbspThe man that kept his senses— And now he cried,—'Stop, neighbours, stop! The Ox is mad! I would not swop, No! not a school-boy's farthing top        &nbspFor all the parish-fences.' XVIII 'The Ox is mad! Ho! Dick, Bob, Mat!        &nbsp'What means this coward fuss? Ho! stretch this rope across the plat— 'Twill trip him up—or if not that, Why, dam'me! we must lay him flat—        &nbspSee! here's my blunderbuss.' XIX 'A lying dog! just now he said        &nbspThe Ox was only glad— Let's break his Presbyterian head!' 'Hush!' quoth the sage, 'you've been misled; No quarrels now! let's all make head,        &nbspYou drove the poor Ox mad.' XX As thus I sat, in careless chat,        &nbspWith the morning's wet newspaper, In eager haste, without his hat, As blind and blund'ring as a bat, In came that fierce Aristocrat,        &nbspOur pursy woollen-draper. XXI And so my Muse per force drew bit;        &nbspAnd in he rush'd and panted! 'Well, have you heard?' No, not a whit. 'What, ha'nt you heard?' Come, out with it! 'That Tierney votes for Mister Pitt,        &nbspAnd Sheridan's recanted!