Reading Text (Broadside)
The Devil's Walk
Broadside Version
by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Clear Reading Text
edited by Donald H. Reiman and Neil Fraistat
This on-line version of Shelley's The Devil's Walk (Broadside Version ) offers a text that does not contain any mark-up or hyperlinks. See DW Critical Text for the fully encoded version.
The Devil's Walk exists in both a broadside and a letter version. See the editors' headnote for a fuller description of its history and significance. You can also browse independently:
- primary variants from our critically edited text as collated against the copy of the 1812 broadside in the Public Record Office (1812.PRO).
- broadside variants from our critically edited text as collated against all witnesses (i.e., the primary witness and 1871, 1876, 1892, 1927, 1970, 1972, and 1989).
- letter variants from our diplomatic text as collated against all witnesses (i.e., Wise, 1927/i, 1927/viii, 1964J, 1972, and 1989).
- annotations by the editors:
- for the broadside version
- for the letter version
Broadside Version
THE DEVIL'S WALK,
A BALLAD.
ONCE, early in the morning, | |
Beelzebub arose, | |
With care his sweet person adorning, | |
He put on his Sunday clothes. | |
He drew on a boot to hide his hoof, | 5 |
He drew on a glove to hide his claw, | |
His horns were concealed Bras Chapeau, | |
And the Devil went forth as natty a Beau, | |
As Bond-street ever saw. | |
He sate him down, in London town, | 10 |
Before earth's morning ray, | |
With a favourite imp he began to chat, | |
On religion, and scandal, this and that, | |
Until the dawn of day. | |
And then to St. James's court he went, | 15 |
And St. Paul's Church he took in his way, | |
He was mighty thick with every Saint, | |
Tho' they were formal and he was gay. | |
The Devil was an agriculturist, | |
And as bad weeds quickly grow, | 20 |
In looking over his farm, I wist | |
He wouldn't find cause for woe. | |
He peeped in each hole, to each chamber stole, | |
His promising live stock to view; | |
Grinning applause, he just shewed them his claws, | 25 |
And they shrunk with affright from his ugly sight, | |
Whose works they delighted to do. | |
Satan poked his red nose into crannies so small, | |
One would think that the innocents fair, | |
Poor lambkins! were just doing nothing at all, | 30 |
But settling some dress or arranging some ball, | |
But the Devil saw deeper there. | |
A Priest, at whose elbow the Devil during prayer, | |
Sate familiarly, side by side, | |
Declared, that if the tempter were there, | 35 |
His presence he would not abide; | |
Ah! Ah! thought Old Nick, that's a very stale trick, | |
For without the Devil, O! favourite of evil, | |
In your carriage you would not ride. | |
Satan next saw a brainless King, | 40 |
Whose house was as hot as his own, | |
Many imps in attendance were there on the wing, | |
They flapped the pennon and twisted the sting, | |
Close by the very Throne. | |
Ah, ha! thought Satan, the pasture is good, | 45 |
My Cattle will here thrive better than others, | |
They dine on news of human blood, | |
They sup on the groans of the dying and dead, | |
And supperless never will go to bed; | |
Which will make them as fat as their brothers. | 50 |
Fat as the fiends that feed on blood, | |
Fresh and warm from the fields of Spain, | |
Where ruin ploughs her gory way, | |
When the shoots of earth are nipped in the bud, | |
Where Hell is the Victor's prey, | 55 |
Its glory the meed of the slain. | |
Fatas the death birds on Erin's shore, | |
That glutted themselves in her dearest gore, | |
And flitted round Castlereagh, | |
When they snatched the Patriot's heart, that his grasp | 60 |
Had torn from its widow's maniac clasp, | |
And fled at the dawn of day. | |
Fatas the reptiles of the tomb, | |
That riot in corruption's spoil, | |
That fret their little hour in gloom, | 65 |
And creep, and live the while. | |
Fat as that Prince's maudlin brain, | |
Which addled by some gilded toy, | |
Tired, gives his sweetmeat, and again | |
Cries for it, like a humoured boy. | 70 |
For he is fat, his waistcoat gay, | |
When strained upon a levee day, | |
Scarce meets across his princely paunch, | |
And pantaloons are like half moons, | |
Upon each brawny haunch. | 75 |
How vast his stock of calf! when plenty | |
Had filled his empty head and heart, | |
Enough to satiate foplings twenty, | |
Could make his pantaloon seams start. | |
The Devil, (who sometimes is called nature,) | 80 |
For men of power provides thus well, | |
Whilst every change, and every feature, | |
Their great original can tell. | |
Satan saw a lawyer, a viper slay, | |
That crawled up the leg of his table, | 85 |
It reminded him most marvellously, | |
Of the story of Cain and Abel. | |
The wealthy yeoman, as he wanders, | |
His fertile fields among, | |
And on his thriving cattle ponders, | 90 |
Counts his sure gains, and hums a song; | |
Thus did the Devil, thro' earth walking, | |
Hum low a hellish song. | |
For they thrive well, whose garb of gore, | |
Is Satan's choicest livery, | 95 |
And they thrive well, who from the poor, | |
Have snatched the bread of penury, | |
And heap the houseless wanderer's store, | |
On the rank pile of luxury. | |
The Bishops thrive, tho' they are big, | 100 |
The Lawyers thrive, tho' they are thin; | |
For every gown, and every wig, | |
Hides the safe thrift of Hell within. | |
Thus pigs were never counted clean, | |
Altho' they dine on finest corn; | 105 |
And cormorants are sin-like lean, | |
Altho' they eat from night to morn. | |
Oh! why is the Father of Hell in such glee, | |
As he grins from ear to ear? | |
Why does he doff his clothes joyfully, | 110 |
As he skips, and prances, and flaps his wing, | |
As he sidles, leers, and twirls his sting, | |
And dares, as he is, to appear? | |
A Statesman pass'dalone to him, | |
The Devil dare his whole shape uncover, | 115 |
To show each feature, every limb, | |
Secure of an unchanging lover. | |
At this known sign, a welcome sight, | |
The watchful demons sought their King, | |
And every fiend of thy Stygian night, | 120 |
Was in an instant on the wing. | |
Pale Loyalty, his guilt steeled brow, | |
With wreaths of gory laurel crowned: | |
The hell-hounds, Murder, Want and Woe, | |
For ever hungering flocked around; | 125 |
From Spain had Satan sought their food, | |
'Twas human woe and human blood! | |
Hark, the earthquake's crash I hear, | |
Kings turn pale, and Conquerors start, | |
Ruffians tremble in their fear, | 130 |
For their Satan doth depart. | |
This day fiends give to revelry, | |
To celebrate their King's return, | |
And with delight its sire to see, | |
Hell's adamantine limits burn. | 135 |
But were the Devil's sight as keen, | |
As Reason's penetrating eye, | |
His sulphurous Majesty I ween, | |
Would find but little cause for joy. | |
For the sons of Reason see, | 140 |
That ere fate consume the Pole, | |
The false Tyrant's cheek shall be, | |
Bloodless as his coward soul. |