'My Lord, I cannot speak.' -- MACLEAN THE HIGHWAYMAN (on his trial). 'SILENCE is golden,' saith the saw, And rightly is extolled; For Speech, too oft, outrides the law By waxing overbold: Yet he, I think (of mortal mould!), Most needs the aid of 'cheek,' -- The man who can no tale unfold, -- The man who cannot speak! He listens with a kind of awe, And hears around him rolled The long, reverberate guffaw That greets the quicker-souled; He hears the jest, or new or old, And mutely eats his 'leek,' -- Is classed as either dull or cold, -- The man who cannot speak! He may have 'Latin in his mawe,' He may keep down controlled Potentialities of 'jaw' Unmatched by any scold; He may have thoughts of sterling gold For each day in the week; But he must all these things withhold, -- The man who cannot speak. ENVOY. FRIENDS, 'tis of me the fable's told; Your sufferance I seek; In me that shameless sight behold, -- The man who cannot speak! |