The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag

Again, for Shirley

SIR WALTER RALEIGH TO HIS SON

Three things there be that prosper up apace,

And flourish while they grow asunder far;

But on a day, they meet all in a place,

And when they meet, they one another mar.

And they be these; the Wood, the Weed, the Wag:

The Wood is that that makes the gallows tree;

The Weed is that that strings the hangman's bag;

The Wag, my pretty knave, betokens thee.

Now mark, dear boy — while these assemble not,

Green springs the tree, hemp grows, the wag is wild;

But when they meet, it makes the timber rot,

It frets the halter, and it chokes the child.