Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE KILLCROP, by ROBERT SOUTHEY


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE KILLCROP, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: You squalling imp, lie still! Isn't it enough
Last Line: I'll rocket him. (exit.)
Subject(s): Children; Devil; Luther, Martin (1483-1546); Murder; Superstition; Childhood; Satan; Mephistopheles; Lucifer; Beelzebub


BENEDICT.

YOU squalling imp, lie still! isn't it enough
To eat two pounds for a breakfast, but again
Before the sun's half-risen, I must hear
This cry? as though your stomach was as empty
As old Karl's head, that yonder limps along
Mouthing his crust. I'll haste to Hocklestad!
A short mile only.

KARL.

Benedict, how now!
Earnest and out of breath, why in this haste?
What have you in your basket?

BENEDICT.

Stand aside!
No moment this for converse. Ask to-morrow
And I will answer you, but I am now
About to punish Beelzebub. Take care,
My business is important.

KARL.

What! about
To punish the arch fiend old Beelzebub?
A thing most rare—but can't I lend a hand
On this occasion?

BENEDICT.

Father, stand aside!
I hate this parley! stand aside, I say!

KARL.

Good Benedict, be not o'ercome by rage,
But listen to an old man. What is't there
Within your basket?

BENEDICT.

'Tis the devil's changeling,
A thumping killcrop! (uncovers the basket.)
Yes, 'tween you and I, (whispering)
Our neighbour Balderic's, changed for his son Will!

KARL.

An idle thought! I say it is a child.
A fine one too!

BENEDICT.

A child! you dreaming grey-beard!
Nothing will you believe like other people.
Did ever mortal man see child like this!
Why 'tis a killcrop, certain, manifest;
Look there! I'd rather see a dead pig snap
At th' butcher's knife, than call this thing a child.
View how he stares! I'm no young cub d'ye see.

KARL.

Why, Benedict! this is most wonderful
To my plain mind. I've often heard of killcrops
And laugh'd at the tale most heartily; but now
I'll mark him well, and see if there's any truth
In these said creatures. (looks at the basket.)
A finer child ne'er breathed!
Thou art mistaken, Benedict! thine eyes
See things confused! But let me hear thee say
What are the signs by which thou know'st the diff'rence
'Twixt crop and child.

BENEDICT.

The diff'rence! mercy on us!
That I should talk to such a heretic—
D'ye know the difference 'twixt the moon and stars?

KARL.

Most certainly.

BENEDICT.

Then these are things so near,
That I might pardon one who hesitates,
Doubting between them. But the crop and child!
They are so opposite, that I should look
Sooner to hear the frog teach harmony,
Than meet a man with hairs so grey as thine,
Who did not know the difference.

KARL.

Benedict!
The oldest 'ere he die, something might learn;
And I shall hear, gladly, the certain marks
That show the killcrop.

BENEDICT.

Father, listen then—
The killcrop, mark me, for a true man's child
At first might be mistaken—has two eyes
And nose and mouth, but these are semblances
Deceitful, and, as father Luther says,
There's something underneath.

KARL.

Good Benedict!
If killcrops look like children, by what power
Know you they are not?

BENEDICT.

This from you old father!
Why when they are pinch'd they squeak.

KARL.

This is not strange,
All children cry when pinch'd.

BENEDICT.

But then, their maws;
The veriest company of threshing clown
Would think they had no appetite, compared
With this and the rest of 'em—gormandizing beast!
See how he yawns for food!

KARL.

But Benedict!
When hunger stings you, don't you ope your mouth?
What other evidence?

BENEDICT.

Why, devil-like,
When any evil happens, by his grin
'Twill always tell ye, and when tidings good
Come near, the beasts of twins delivered, or
Corn sold at market, or the harvest in,
The raven never croaked more dismally
Before the sick man's window, than this crop,
With disappointment howls. And then, a mark
Infallible, that shows the killcrop true,
Is this, old man, he sucks his mother dry!
'Twas but the other day, in our village,
A killcrop suck'd his mother and five more
Dry as a whet-stone. Do you now believe?

KARL.

Good Benedict, all children laugh and cry!
I have my doubts.

BENEDICT.

Doubts have you? well-a-day!
In t'other world you'll sink ten fathoms deeper
I promise you for this foul heresy.
But nothing will move you, you wont be moved.
I'll tell 'ye as true a story as ever man
Told to another. I had a changeling once
Laid in my cradle, but I spied him out;
Thou'st never seen a creature so foul-mouth'd
And body'd too. But, knowing Satan's drift,
I balk'd him; to the lofty church that stands
Over yon river, I the killcrop took
To ask advice, how to dispose of him
Of th' holy pastor. When by the moon on high,
('Tis true I fear'd him) as I past the bridge,
Bearing him in my arms, he gave a leap
And over the rails jump'd headlong, laughing loud
With a fellow-fiend, that from the waves beneath
Bawl'd Killcrop Killcrop!

KARL.

Are you sure he laugh'd?
Might it not be a cry?

BENEDICT.

Why! that it might,
I wont be certain, but that he jump'd over
And splash'd and dash'd into the water beneath
Making fierce gestures and loud bellowings;
I could as soon, a witch's innocence,
Believe, as doubt it.

KARL.

Benedict! now say!
Didst thou not throw him over?

BENEDICT.

Throw him over!
Why, man, I could as easily have held
A struggling whale. It needed iron arms
To hold the monster. Doubt whate'er you will,
He surely laugh'd. And when he reach'd the water
Grasping the fiend, I never shall forget
The cries, the yells, the shouts; it seem'd to me
That thunder was dove's cooing to the noise
These killcrops made, as splashing, roaring, laughing
With their ha, ha, ha, so ominous! they rush'd
Down the broad stream. That very night our cow
Sicken'd and died. Saints aid us! whilst these crops
Poison the air, they'll have enough to do
To stay the pestilence.

KARL.

But Benedict,
Be not outrageous! I am old d'ye see.
Trust me, thou art mistaken, 'tis no killcrop,
See how he smiles! poor infant, give him me.

BENEDICT.

Stand off! the devil lent him, and again
I will return him honestly, and rid
Earth of one bane.

KARL.

Thou dost not mean to kill!
Poor infant, spare him! I have young and old,
The poor, a houseful, yet I'll not refuse
To take one more, if thou wilt give him me.
Let me persuade!

BENEDICT.

Away! I say, away!
Even if an angel came to beg him of me,
I should suspect imposture, for I know
He could not ask a killcrop. 'Tis a thing
Heaven hath no need of. Ere an hour be past,
From you tall rock I'll hurl him to perdition.

KARL.

Repeat it not! oh spare the infant! spare
His innocent laughter! my cold creeping blood
Doth boil with indignation, at the thought
Most horrible. Thou must not do the deed!

BENEDICT.

Not punish Satan! I have learnt too well
From father Luther. Once again, stand off!
I'll rocket him. (exit.)





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