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The Face on the Barroom Floor

By Darcy, Hugh Antoine

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Book Id: WPLBN0000253196
Format Type: PDF eBook
File Size: 0.1 MB
Reproduction Date: 2007
Full Text

Title: The Face on the Barroom Floor  
Author: Darcy, Hugh Antoine
Volume:
Language: English
Subject: Fiction, Poetry, Verse drama
Collection: Poetry Collection
Subcollection:
Historic
Publication Date:
Publisher: World Public Library Association

Description
Poetry

Excerpt
Excerpt: TWAS a balmy summer evening, and a goodly crowd was there, // Which well-nigh filled Joe's barroom, on the corner of the square; // And as songs and witty stories came through the open door, // A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the floor. // Where did it come from? someone said. The wind has blown it in. // What does it want? another cried. Some whiskey, rum or gin? // Here, Toby, sic 'em, if your stomach's equal to the work - // I wouldn't touch him with a fork, he's filthy as a Turk. // This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical good grace; // In face, he smiled as tho' he thought he'd struck the proper place. // Come, boys, I know there's kindly hearts among so good a crowd - // To be in such good company would make a deacon proud. // Give me a drink - that's what I want - I'm out of funds, you know, // When I had cash to treat the gang this hand was never slow. // What? You laugh as if you thought this pocket never held a sou; // I once was fixed as well, my boys, as any one of you. // There, thanks, that's braced me nicely; God bless you one and all; // Next time I pass this good saloon I'll make another call. // Give you a song? No, I can't do that; my singing days are past; // My voice is cracked, my throat's worn out, and my lungs are going fast. // I'll tell you a funny story, and a fact, I promise, too. // Say! Give me another whiskey, and I'll tell what I'll do - // That I was ever a decent man not one of you would think; // But I was, some four or five years back. Say, give me another drink. // Fill her up, Joe, I want to put some life into my frame - // Such little drinks to a bum like me are miserably tame; // Five fingers - there, that's the scheme - and corking whiskey, too. // Well, here's luck, boys, and landlord, my best regards to you. // You've treated me pretty kindly and I'd like to tell you how // I came to be the dirty sot you see before you now. // As I told you, once I was a man, with muscle, frame, and health, // And but for a blunder ought to have made considerable wealth. // I was a painter - not one that daubed on bricks and wood, // But an artist, and for my age, was rated pretty good. // I worked hard at my canvas, and was bidding fair to rise, // For gradually I saw the star of fame before my eyes. // I made a picture perhaps you've seen, 'tis called the `Chase of Fame.' // It brought me fifteen hundred pounds and added to my name...

 

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