The Female of The Species


darkbeaver
#1

The Female of the Species



Rudyard Kipling



When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man,
He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can.
But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws,
They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws.
'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say,
For the Woman that God gave him isn't his to give away;
But when hunter meets with husbands, each confirms the other's tale
The female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Man, a bear in most relations worm and savage otherwise,
Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise.
Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact
To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.

Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low,
To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe.
Mirth obscene diverts his anger Doubt and Pity oft perplex
Him in dealing with an issue to the scandal of The Sex!

But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame
Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same,
And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,
The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.

She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast
May not deal in doubt or pity must not swerve for fact or jest.
These be purely male diversions not in these her honour dwells.
She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.

She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great
As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate.
And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unclaimed to claim
Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.

She is wedded to convictions in default of grosser ties;
Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies!
He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild,
Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.

Unprovoked and awful charges even so the she-bear fights,
Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons even so the cobra bites,
Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw
And the victim writhes in anguish like the Jesuit with the squaw!

So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer
With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her
Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands
To some God of Abstract Justice which no woman understands.

And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him
Must command but may not govern shall enthral but not enslave him.
And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail,
That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male.


Rudyard Kipling, 1911



 
eh1eh
#2
Mr. Yard has made an obvious observation of the obvious and obviously without these prose we'd never know the dangers of the female as it is now obviously not correct to make this obvious observation of the obvious.
 
darkbeaver
#3
obviously
 
eh1eh
#4
Indeed.
 
Said1
#5
Wussies.
 
eh1eh
+1
#6  Top Rated Post
Quote: Originally Posted by Said1 View Post

Wussies.

See what I mean Beav?
 
DaSleeper
#7
When I saw the first paragraph of the OP, I started thinking of "mama grizzly" ...hmmmm
 
darkbeaver
#8
Quote: Originally Posted by eh1eh View Post

See what I mean Beav?

I do but I can't undo the deed, I am doomed.
 
Goober
+1
#9
Quote: Originally Posted by darkbeaver View Post


The Female of the Species



Rudyard Kipling



When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man,
He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can.
But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws,
They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws.
'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say,
For the Woman that God gave him isn't his to give away;
But when hunter meets with husbands, each confirms the other's tale
The female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Man, a bear in most relations worm and savage otherwise,
Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise.
Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact
To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.

Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low,
To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe.
Mirth obscene diverts his anger Doubt and Pity oft perplex
Him in dealing with an issue to the scandal of The Sex!

But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame
Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same,
And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,
The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.

She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast
May not deal in doubt or pity must not swerve for fact or jest.
These be purely male diversions not in these her honour dwells.
She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.

She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great
As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate.
And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unclaimed to claim
Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.

She is wedded to convictions in default of grosser ties;
Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies!
He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild,
Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.

Unprovoked and awful charges even so the she-bear fights,
Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons even so the cobra bites,
Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw
And the victim writhes in anguish like the Jesuit with the squaw!

So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer
With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her
Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands
To some God of Abstract Justice which no woman understands.

And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him
Must command but may not govern shall enthral but not enslave him.
And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail,
That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male.


Rudyard Kipling, 1911



I also like Kipling




You may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
He was "Din! Din! Din!
You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippery hitherao!
Water, get it! Panee lao!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din."

The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a piece o' twisty rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted "Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
You put some juldee in it
Or I'll marrow you this minute
If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"

'E would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is mussick on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire",
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-files shout,
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I shan't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' he plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green:
It was crawlin' and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;
'E's chawin' up the ground,
An' 'e's kickin' all around:
For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!"

'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died,
"I 'ope you liked your drink", sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
At the place where 'e is gone --
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to poor damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I've belted you and flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

Gunga Din poem - Rudyard Kipling
 
TenPenny
#10
Kipling was a good writer, but a bit of a 'jolly old' supporter. Anything the Empire did was perfect, fine, and blessed by God. And did those feet in ancient times, etc etc.

Looking back, he was certainly a product of his times, but you can see that his days were numbered.

Still, I enjoyed the Ritual of the Calling of the Engineer.
 
Goober
#11
Quote: Originally Posted by TenPenny View Post

Kipling was a good writer, but a bit of a 'jolly old' supporter. Anything the Empire did was perfect, fine, and blessed by God. And did those feet in ancient times, etc etc.

Looking back, he was certainly a product of his times, but you can see that his days were numbered.

Still, I enjoyed the Ritual of the Calling of the Engineer.

Even today ther is a lot of discussion as to whether he was a bell ringer for the Realm. Or writings of what he say and experineced in the times he lived in.

Gunga Din is as relevant today as it was then.
 
Machjo
#12
Quote: Originally Posted by TenPenny View Post

Kipling was a good writer, but a bit of a 'jolly old' supporter. Anything the Empire did was perfect, fine, and blessed by God. And did those feet in ancient times, etc etc.

Looking back, he was certainly a product of his times, but you can see that his days were numbered.

Still, I enjoyed the Ritual of the Calling of the Engineer.

Huh? Wasn't 'Did those feet in Ancient times' come from Blake's Milton: a Poem?, later made into the unofficial Anthem of England, Jerusalem?

If you read Blake's Songs of Innocence and Experience, for instance, you'll see he was very much critical of the injustices of his society. He also came a couple generations earlier when the Empire was still growing. And his Jerusalem was a call not to empire to to live the Christian life. Blake was a devout Christian, but by no means an orthodox one. If anything, we was a critical and questioning Christian comparable to Tolstoy and other such progressive Christians (not to be confused with political progressivism). Kipling was the Bard of the British Empire, appearing when the Empire had reached its full power, and yes he did indeed glorify it. Though even he himself, though unquestionably an imperialist unlike Blake, was critical of some injustices of the Empire, as hinted at in his White Man's Burden and his Recessional.
 
CurioToo
#13
What a lovely find here!

The topic was morphed into Kipling and it was a wonderful way to start my day - thanks to the writers who spent time giving some quotatons and discussion....
 
TenPenny
#14
Quote: Originally Posted by Machjo View Post

Huh? Wasn't 'Did those feet in Ancient times' come from Blake's Milton: a Poem?, later made into the unofficial Anthem of England, Jerusalem?

I certainly didn't mean to imply that Jerusalem was written by Kipling. It's that similar idea that England is so special that Jesus must have lived there, similar to what comes out of some of Kipling's writings, Empire over all.
 

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