| |
| WHEN the drums begin to beat | |
| Down the street, | |
| When the poles are fetched and guyed, | |
| When the tight-rope’s stretched and tied, | |
| When the dance-girls make salaam, | 5 |
| When the snake-bag wakes alarm, | |
| When the pipes set up their drone, | |
| When the sharp-edged knives are thrown, | |
| When the red-hot coals are shown, | |
| To be swallowed by-and-by— | 10 |
| Arré, Brethren, here come I! | |
| |
| Stripped to loin-cloth in the sun, | |
| Search me well and watch me close! | |
| Tell me how my tricks are done— | |
| Tell me how the mango grows? | 15 |
| |
| Give a man who is not made | |
| To his trade | |
| Swords to fling and catch again, | |
| Coins to ring and snatch again, | |
| Men to harm and cure again, | 20 |
| Snakes to charm and lure again— | |
| He’ll be hurt by his own blade, | |
| By his serpents disobeyed, | |
| By his clumsiness bewrayed, | |
| By the people laughed to scorn— | 25 |
| So ’tis not with juggler born! | |
| |
| Pinch of dust or withered flower, | |
| Chance-flung nut or borrowed staff, | |
| Serve his need and shore his power, | |
| Bind the spell or loose the laugh! | 30 |
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