"See, saw! Margery Daw

Sold her bed, and lay upon straw;

Sold her straw, and lay upon dirt;

Was n't she a good-for-naught?"

O Margery Daw! Mistress Margery Daw!

Not yours the sole lapse that the world ever

saw!

In precisely such willful gradation

I fear me religion and morals and law

Go down, step by step, to the dirt through

the straw,

In the church and the mart and the nation.

A yielding of that, and a dropping of this,—

("With straw fresh and plenty, pray what

is amiss?

The bed may be wider and cleaner;" )

Ah, that's as you make it, and shake it,

you 'll find;

And with slumber forgetful, and luxury

blind,

What you rest in grows meaner and

meaner.

"In righteousness walking," the Scripture

verse goes,—

"They rest in their beds," and find blessed

repose;

And the beautiful contrary diction

Is neither Isaiah's mistake, nor a word

At random declared, to be scoffingly heard,

But a truth in the freedom of fiction.

O Margery Daw! Mistress Margery Daw!

It shall always be gospel, what always was

law:

Some bed-making none may dispense

with,—

In dust of the earth, or in heart of the

heaven,—

And to soul of mankind shall no Sabbath be

given

Save that it lies down and contents with.