Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (1036 page)

Before we loose the word
That bids new worlds to birth,
Needs must we loosen first the sword
Of Justice upon earth;
Or else all else is vain
Since life on earth began,
And the spent world sinks back again
Hopeless of God and Man.

A People and their King
Through ancient sin grown strong,
Because they feared no reckoning
Would set no bound to wrong;
But now their hour is past,
And we who bore it find
Evil Incarnate hell at last
To answer to mankind.

For agony and spoil
Of nations beat to dust,
For poisoned air and tortured soil
And cold, commanded lust,
And every secret woe
The shuddering waters saw.
Willed and fulfilled by high and low.
Let them relearn the Low.

That when the dooms are read,
Not high nor low shall say:--
" My haughty or my humble head
Was saved me in this day."
That, till the end of time,
Their remnant shall recall
Their fathers old, confederate crime
Availed them not at all.

That neither schools nor priests,
Nor Kings may build again
A people with the heart of beasts
Made wise concerning men.
Whereby our dead shall sleep
In honour, unbetrayed,
And we in faith and honour keep
That peace for which they paid.

The Justice’s Tale

Chauser
 — The Muse Among the Motors (1900-1930)

With them there rode a lustie Engineere
Wel skilled to handel everich waie her geere,
Hee was soe wise ne man colde showe him naught
And out of Paris was hys learnynge brought.
Frontlings mid brazen wheeles and wandes he sat,
And on hys heade he bare an leathern hat.
Hee was soe certaine of his governance,
That, by the Road, he tooke everie chaunce.
For simple people and for lordlings eke
Hee wolde not bate a del but onlie squeeke
Behinde their backes on an horne hie
Until they crope into a piggestie.
He was more wood than bull in china-shoppe,
And yet for cowes and dogges wolde hee stop,
Not our of Marcie but for Preudence-sake —
Than hys dependaunce ever was hys brake.

Just So Stories

       When the cabin port-holes are dark and green
         Because of the seas outside;
       When the ship goes
wop
(with a wiggle between)
       And the steward falls into the soup-tureen,
         And trunks begin to slide;
       When Nursey lies on the floor in a heap,
       And Mummy tells you to let her sleep,
         And you aren’t waked or washed or dressed,
       Why, then you will know (if you haven’t guessed)
       You’re “Fifty North and Forty West!”
                              
How the Whale Got His Throat

       The Camel’s hump is an ugly lump
         Which well you may see at the Zoo;
       But uglier yet is the hump we get
         From having too little to do.

       Kiddies and grown-ups too-oo-oo,
       If we haven’t enough to do-oo-oo,
             We get the hump —
             Cameelious hump —
       The hump that is black and blue!

       We climb out of bed with a frouzly head,
         And a snarly-yarly voice.
       We shiver and scowl and we grunt and we growl
         At our bath and our boots and our toys;

       And there ought to be a corner for me
       (And I know’ there is one for you)
             When we get the hump —
             Cameelious hump —
       The hump that is black and blue!

       The cure for this ill is not to sit still,
         Or frowst with a book by the fire;
       But to take a large hoe and a shovel also,
         And dig  till you gently perspire;

       And then you will find that the sun and the wind,
       And the Djinn of the Garden  too,
         Have lifted the hump —
         The horrible hump —
       The hump that is black and blue!

       I get it as well as you-oo-oo —
         If I haven’t enough to do-oo-oo!
         We all get hump —
         Cameelious hump —
       Kiddies and grown-ups too!
                           
How the Camel Got His Hump

I am the Most Wise Baviaan, saying in most wice tones,
“Let us melt into the landscape — just us two by our lones.”
People have come — in a carriage — calling. But Mummy is there....
Yes, I can go if you take me — Nurse says
she
don’t care.
Let’s go up to the pig-styes and sit on the farmyard rails!
Let’s say things to the bunnies, and watch ‘em skitter their tails!
Let’s’-oh,
anything
, daddy, so long as it’s you and me,
And going truly exploring, and not being in till tea!
Here’s your boots (I’ve brought ‘em), and here’s your cap and stick,
And here’s your pipe and tobacco. Oh, come along out of it — quick!
                     
How the Leopard Got His Spots.

        I keep six honest serving-men
          (They taught me all I knew);
        Their names are What and Why and When
          And How and Where and Who.
        I send them over land and sea,
          I send them east and west;
        But after they have worked for me,
         
I
give them all a rest.

       
I
let them rest from nine till five,
          For I am busy then,
        As well as breakfast, lunch and tea,
          For they are hungry men.
        But different folk have different views.
          I know a person small —
        She keeps ten million serving-men,
          Who get no rest at all!

        She sends ‘em abroad on her own affairs,
          From the second she opens her eyes —
        One million Hows, two million Wheres,
          And seven million Whys!
         
The Elephant’s Child.

This is the mouth-filling song of the race that was run by a Boomer.
Run in a single burst — only event of its kind —
Started by Big God Nqong from Warrigaborrigarooma,
Old Man Kangaroo first, Yellow-Dog Dingo behind.

Kangaroo bounded away, his back-legs working like pistons —
Bounded from morning till dark, twenty-five feet at a bound.
Yellow-Dog Dingo lay like a yellow cloud in the distance —
Much too busy to bark. My! but they covered the ground!

Nobody knows where they went, or followed the track that they flew in,
For that Continent hadn’t been given a name.
They ran thirty degrees from Torres Straits to Leeuwin
(Look at the Atlas), please then they ran back as they came.

S’posing you could trot from Adelaide to the Pacific
For an afternoon’s run — half what these gentlemen did —
You would feel rather hot, but your legs would develop terrific —
Yes, my importunate son, you’d be a Marvellous Kid!
                               
The Sing-Song of Old Man Kangaroo
                                

      I’ve never sailed the Amazon,
        I’ve never reached Brazil;
      But the
Don
and
Magdalena
,
        They can go there when they will!

                    Yes, weekly from Southampton
                      Great steamers, white and gold,
                    Go rolling down to Rio
                    (Roll down — roll down to Rio! ).
                      And I’d like to roll to Rio
                    Some day before I’m old!

      I’ve never seen a Jaguar,
        Nor yet an Armadill —
      He’s dilloing in his armour,
        And I s’pose I never will,

                    Unless I go to Rio
                    These wonders to behold —
                    Roll down — roll down to Rio —
                    Roll really down to Rio!
                    Oh, I’d love to roll to Rio
                    Some day before I’m old!
                     
The Beginning of the Armadilloes.

         China-going P. &  0.’s
         Pass Pau Amma’s playground close,
         And his Pusat Tasek lies
         Near the track of most B.I.’s.
         N.Y.K. and N.D.L.
         Know Pau Amma’s home as well
         As the Fisher of the Sea knows
         “Bens,” M.M.’s and Rubattinos.
         But (and this is rather queer)
         A.T.L.’s can
not
come here;
         0. and 0. and D.0.A.
         Must go round another way.
         Orient, Anchor, Bibby, Hall,
         Never go that way at all.
         U.C.S. would have a fit
         If it found itself on it.
         And if “Beavers” took their cargoes
         To Penang instead of Lagos,
         Or a fat Shaw-Savill bore
         Passengers to Singapore,
         Or a White Star were to try a
         Little trip to Sourabaya,
         Or a B.S.A. went on
         Past Natal to Cheribon,
         The great Mr. Lloyds would come
         With a wire and drag them home! 

         .            .             .              .           .

          You will know what my riddle means
          When you’ve eaten mangosteens.
                          
The Crab That Played with the Sea

        Pussy can sit by the fire and sing,
          Pussy can climb a tree,
        Or play with a silly old cork and string
           To ‘muse herself, not me.
        But I like
Binkie
my dog, because
           He knows how to behave;
        So,
Binkie’s
the same as the First Friend was,
           And I am the Man in the Cave!

        Pussy will play Man-Friday till
          It’s time to wet her paw
        And make her walk on the window-sill
          (For the footprint Crusoe saw);
        Then she fluffles her tail and mews,
          And scratches and won’t attend.
        But
Binkie
will play whatever I choose,
          And he is my true First Friend!

        Pussy will rub my knees with her head
          Pretending she loves me hard;
        But the very minute I go to my bed
          Pussy runs out in the yard,
        And there she stays till the morning-light;
          So I know it is only pretend;
        But
Binkie
, he snores at my feet all night,
          And he is my Firstest Friend!
                      
The Cat That Walked by Himself

             This Uninhabited Island
               Is near Cape Gardafui;
             But it’s hot — too hot — off Suez
               For the likes of you and me
             Ever to go in a P. & 0.
               To call on the Cake Parsee.
                     
How the Rhinoceros got His Skin

        There was never a Queen like Balkis,
          From here to the wide world’s end;
        But Balkis talked to a butterfly
          As you would talk to a friend.

        There was never a King like Solomon,
          Not since the world began;
        But Solomon talked to a butterfly
          As a man would talk to a man.

       
She
was Queen of Sabea —
          And
he
was Asia’s Lord —
        But they both of ‘em talked to butterflies
          When they took their walks abroad!
      
The Butterfly That Stamped.

Kim

Unto whose use the pregnant suns are poised,
With idiot moons and stars retracting stars?
Creep thou between — thy coming’s all unnoised.
Heaven hath her high, as Earth her baser, wars.
Heir to these tumults, this affright, that fray
(By Adam’s, fathers’, own, sin bound alway);
Peer up, draw out thy horoscope and say
Which planet mends thy threadbare fate, or mars.

The King

“Farewell, Romance!” the Cave-men said;
  “With bone well carved He went away,
Flint arms the ignoble arrowhead,
  And jasper tips the spear to-day.
Changed are the Gods of Hunt and Dance,
And He with these.  Farewell, Romance!”

“Farewell, Romance!” the Lake-folk sighed;
  “We lift the weight of flatling years;
The caverns of the mountain-side
  Hold him who scorns our hutted piers.
Lost hills whereby we dare not dwell,
Guard ye his rest.  Romance, farewell!”

“Farewell, Romance!” the Soldier spoke;
  “By sleight of sword we may not win,
But scuffle ‘mid uncleanly smoke
  Of arquebus and culverin.
Honour is lost, and none may tell
Who paid good blows.  Romance, farewell!”

“Farewell, Romance!” the Traders cried;
  “Our keels have lain with every sea;
The dull-returning wind and tide
  Heave up the wharf where we would be;
The known and noted breezes swell
Our trudging sails. Romance, farewell!”