Song Book of Quong Lee of Limehouse

Excerpt

Buying and Selling

  Throughout the day I sit behind the counter of my shop
  And the odours of my country are all about me—
  Areca nut, and betel leaf, and manioc,
  Lychee and suey sen,
  Li-un and dried seaweed,
  Tchah and sam-shu;
  And these carry my mind to half-forgotten days
  When tales were plentiful and care was hard to hold.

  All day I sell for trifling sums the wares of my own land,
  And buy for many cash such things as people wish to sell,
  That I may sell them again to others,
  With some profit to myself.

  One night a white-skinned damsel came to me
  And offered, with fair words, something she wished to sell.

  Now if I desire a jacket I can buy it with coin,
  Or barter for it something of my stock.
  If I desire rice-spirit, that, too, I can buy;
  And elegant entertainments and delights are all to be had for cash.

  But there is one good thing above all precious,
  That no man may buy.
  And though I buy readily most things that I desire,
  This thing that the white maid offered at my own price
  I would not buy.

The Power of Music

  In the little room behind my shop
  I refresh myself of an evening with my machine-that-sings.

  Two songs has my machine-that-sings:
  And these are 'Hitchy Koo' and 'We don't want to lose you.'

  When, in the evening, a friend honours me with a visit,
  I engage his ears with the air of 'Hitchy Koo';
  But when I am afflicted with a visit
  From those who fill me with a spirit of no-satisfaction,
  I command my machine-that-sings
  To render the music of 'We don't want to lose you.'

  The noise that at this moment greets the ear
  Of the elegant visitor to this despicable hovel
  Is the incomparable music of 'Hitchy Koo';
  And the price of this person's tea, mister,
  Is but a paltry six shillings the pound.

The Lamplighter

  The dark days now begin, when in afternoon
  The Great Night Lantern makes a razor-edge
  Of black and white in the streets.
  And one comes, called the Lamplighter,
  And the straight stiff lamps of these stiff London streets,
  At his quick touch burst into light.

  At this shy hour
  I see from my unshaded window
  Bright girls, hair flowing, go by with shuttered faces,
  Holding close captive their warm insurgent bosoms.
  And then, at the corner,
  Some slender lad of bold and upright carriage
  Greets them, and the shuttered lanterns of their faces
  Burst with light at the touch of the lamplighter.

  Oh, kind ingenious lamplighter,
  Will you please step this way?

In Reply to an Invitation

  Don't think of me as one of no courtesy
  O elegant and refined foreign one,
  If I do not accept your high-minded invitation
  To drink rice-spirit with you
  At the little place called The Blue Lantern, near Pennyfields.
  Please don't regard me as lacking in gracious behaviour,
  Or as insufferably ignorant of the teachings of the Book of Rites

  But I am sojourning here in a strange land,
  And am not fully informed of the usages of your dignified people....