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"Ye don't believe it," continued Joe Digg, "but I've been a drunkard, an' I'm one yet, an' ye all got sense enough to understan' that I ort to know best about it." "Will the gentleman have the kindness to explain?" asked the lecturer. "I'm a comin' to it, sir, ef my head'll see me through," replied the drunkard.
I want the people here, one an' all, to understand that though I'm past helpin' now, ther's been fifty times in the last twenty year when I might hed been stopped short, ef any body'd been sensible enough and good-hearted enough to give me a lift." Joe Digg sat down, and there was a long pause.
We are such stuff As dreams are made of, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. Also, he could have written this, but he refrained: Good friend for Iesus sake forbeare To digg the dust encloased heare: Blest be ye man yt spares thes stones And curst be he yt moves my bones.
Upon a slab over the grave is carved: "Good frend, for Jesus' sake forbeare To digg the dust encloased heare; Bleste be ye man yt spares thes stones, And curst be he yt moves my bones." And so our greatest poet lies not beneath the great arch of Westminster but in the quiet church of the little country town in which he was born.
A derisive laugh from some of the half-grown boys, and a titter from some of the misses, attracted the attention of the audience, and looking round they saw Joe Digg standing up in a pew near the door. "Put him out!" "It's a shame!" "Disgraceful!" were some of the cries which were heard in the room. "Mr.
We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. Also, he could have written this, but he refrained: Good friend for Iesus sake forbeare To digg the dust encloased heare: Blest be ye man yt spares thes stones And curst be ye yt moves my bones.
There are plenty of well-fed, healthy, and lazy young men hanging about the tavern in this very village." "I know it," said Joe Digg, "an' I want to talk about them too. I don't wan't to take up all the time of this meetin', but you'll all 'low I know more 'bout that tavern than any body else does.
Thenceforward he was a busy and flourishing business man, and was raking in money with both hands for twenty years. Then in a noble frenzy of poetic inspiration he wrote his one poem his only poem, his darling and laid him down and died: Good friend for Iesus sake forbeare To digg the dust encloased heare: Blest be ye man yt spares thes stones And curst be he yt moves my bones.
But Squire Breet, and the doctor, and several other enterprising men, took the entire burden on their own shoulders or pockets and Joe Digg was as useful as a reformed thief to a police department.
"No, sir," replied Joe Digg, "but I do mean to say that after you leave out them that takes liquor to help 'em do a full day's work, an' them that commence drinkin' 'cos they re at the tavern, an' ain't got no where's else to go, you've made a mighty big hole in the crowd of drinkin'-men bigger'n temperance meetins' ever begin to make yit" "But how are they to be 'left out'?" asked the lecturer.
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