The Man He Killed
Had he and I but met By some old ancient inn,
We should have set us down to wet Right many a nipperkin! But ranged as infantry, And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me, And killed him in his place. I shot him dead because— Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was; That's clear enough; although He thought he'd 'list, perhaps, Off-hand like—just as I—Was out of work—had sold his traps— No other reason why. Yes; quaint and curious war is! You shoot a fellow
You'd treat, if met where any bar is, Or help to half a crown.
This should be compared with War Poet Ivor Gurney's ideas on the same theme.
Line
We should have set us down to
Right many a nipperkin!in modern English might
We would have sat down for a drink and drunk many a glass.nipperkin = 1/8 of a
Lines
He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
Off-hand like -- just as I --Was out of work -- had sold his traps --In modern English might
Perhaps he thought of enlisting in a casual manner, just like me, because we were both out of work and had had to sell our tools.traps = the tools or trappings of a particular trade.
Last Stanza in modern English might
How strange war is, you might meet someone and kill them on the battlefield but, if you had encountered them in peace, you might have bought him a drink or loaned him some money.treat = to buy something for someonehalf-a-crown = old British currency.
One eigth of a sovereign or £0.125
Thomas Hardy
Other author posts
The House Of Hospitalities
Here we broached the Christmas barrel, Pushed up the charred log-ends; Here we sang the Christmas carol, And called in friends
In Time Of The Breaking Of Nations
Only a man harrowing clods In a slow silent With an old horse that stumbles and nods Half asleep as they stalk Only a thin smoke without flame From the heaps of couch-grass; Yet this will go onward the same Though Dynasties pass...
The Roman Gravemounds
By Rome's dim relics there walks a man, Eyes bent; and he carries a basket and spade; I guess what impels him to scrape and scan; Yea, his dreams of that Empire long decayed
Under The Waterfall
'Whenever I plunge my arm, like this, In a basin of water, I never miss The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day Fetched back from its thickening shroud of gray Hence the only prime And real love-rhyme That I know by heart, And that ...
