Saturday Market
Bury your heart in some deep green hollowOr hide it up in a kind old treeBetter still, give it the swallowWhen she goes over the sea.
In Saturday Market there’s eggs a’plentyAnd dead-alive ducks with their legs tied down,Grey old gaffers and boys of twenty--Girls and the women of the town--Pitchers and sugar-sticks, ribbons and laces,Posies and whips and dicky-birds’ seed,Silver pieces and smiling faces,In Saturday Market they’ve all they need.
What were you showing in Saturday MarketThat set it grinning from end to endGirls and gaffers and boys of twenty--?Cover it close with your shawl, my friend--Hasten you home with the laugh behind you,Over the down--, out of sight,Fasten your door, though no one will find youNo one will look on a Market night.
See, you, the shawl is wet, take out from underThe red dead thing--. In the white of the moonOn the flags does it stir again? Well, and no wonder!Best make an end of it; bury it soon.If there is blood on the hearth who’ll know it?Or blood on the stairs,When a murder is over and done why show it?In Saturday Market nobody cares.
Then lie you straight on your bed for a short, short weepingAnd still, for a long, long rest,There’s never a one in the town so sure of sleepingAs you, in the house on the down with a hole in your breast.
Think no more of the swallow,Forget, you, the sea,Never again remember the deep green hollowOr the top of the kind old tree!
Words in this poem
- saturday n.
- The seventh or last day of the week; the day following Friday and preceding Sunday. [OE. Saterday, AS. Sæterdæg, Sæterndæg, Sæternesdæg, literally, Saturn's day, fr. L. Saturnus Saturn + AS. dæg day; cf. L. dies Saturni.]
- nobody n.
- No person; no one; not anybody. [No, a. + body.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Saturday Market is in the public domain. This text is taken from The farmer's bride, Project Gutenberg ebook #71305; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Charlotte Mew, Saturday Market, in The Farmer's Bride (1916), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #71305, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/mew-farmers-bride/saturday-market.html, id L02475.
Form and metre
Saturday Market is 36 lines in 6 stanzas. The rhyme scheme is ABAB, complete in 3 of its 6 stanzas. This poem did not settle on a metre of its own; the book it comes from is in iambic pentameter. 94% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 9.4 syllables. 13 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 33% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABAB hollowA · treeB · swallowA · seaB
- 2 ABABCDCD a'plentyA · downB · twentyA · townB · lacesC · seedD · facesC · needD
- 3 -A-ABCBC market · endA · twenty · friendA · youB · sightC · youB · nightC
- 4 ABABCDCD underA · moonB · wonderA · soonB · itC · stairsD · itC · caresD
- 5 ABAB weepingA · restB · sleepingA · breastB
- 6 ABAB swallowA · seaB · hollowA · treeB
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Bury your heart in some deep green hollow | 10 | /˘······/˘ |
| Or hide it up in a kind old tree | 9 | ········· |
| Better still, give it the swallow | 8 | /˘····/˘ |
| When she goes over the sea. | 7 | ······· |
| In Saturday Market there’s eggs a’plenty | 10 | ·/˘/˘··˘/˘ |
| And dead-alive ducks with their legs tied down, | 10 | ··˘/······ |
| Grey old gaffers and boys of twenty-- | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Girls and the women of the town-- | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Pitchers and sugar-sticks, ribbons and laces, | 11 | /˘·/˘·/˘·/˘ |
| Posies and whips and dicky-birds’ seed, | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| Silver pieces and smiling faces, | 9 | /˘/˘·/˘/˘ |
| In Saturday Market they’ve all they need. | 9 | ·/˘/˘···· |
| What were you showing in Saturday Market | 10 | ···/˘·/˘/˘ |
| That set it grinning from end to end | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| Girls and gaffers and boys of twenty--? | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Cover it close with your shawl, my friend-- | 9 | /˘······· |
| Hasten you home with the laugh behind you, | 10 | /˘········ |
| Over the down--, out of sight, | 7 | ······· |
| Fasten your door, though no one will find you | 10 | /˘········ |
| No one will look on a Market night. | 9 | ······/˘· |
| See, you, the shawl is wet, take out from under | 11 | ··········· |
| The red dead thing--. In the white of the moon | 10 | ·········· |
| On the flags does it stir again? Well, and no wonder! | 13 | ······˘/···/˘ |
| Best make an end of it; bury it soon. | 10 | ······/˘·· |
| If there is blood on the hearth who’ll know it? | 10 | ·········· |
| Or blood on the stairs, | 5 | ····· |
| When a murder is over and done why show it? | 11 | ··/˘······· |
| In Saturday Market nobody cares. | 9 | ·/˘/˘/··· |
| Then lie you straight on your bed for a short, short weeping | 13 | ···········/˘ |
| And still, for a long, long rest, | 7 | ······· |
| There’s never a one in the town so sure of sleeping | 12 | ·/········/˘ |
| As you, in the house on the down with a hole in your breast. | 14 | ·············· |
| Think no more of the swallow, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Forget, you, the sea, | 5 | ˘/··· |
| Never again remember the deep green hollow | 11 | /˘/˘/˘···/˘ |
| Or the top of the kind old tree! | 8 | ········ |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.