The Policeman:
Pass right along.
They passed. Beyond the town
A farmer gave them leave to settle down
In a green field beside the Oxford road.
There the spent horses ceased to drag the load;
The tent was pitched beneath a dropping sky,
The green-striped tent with all its gear awry.
The men drew close to grumble: in the van
The showman parted from the wandering man.
The Showman:
You see; denied a chance; denied bare bread.
King Cole:
I know the stony road that artists tread.
You take it very mildly, if you do.
How would you act if this were done to you?
King Cole: