Frankly In The Face Of Faith And Take The Natural Course, This Rends His Hair Because His Child Is Taken To God'S Breast, That Gnashes Teeth And Raves At Loss Of Trash Which Rust Corrupts And Thieves Break Through And Steal, And This, Enabled To Inherit Earth Through Meekness, Curses Till Your Blood Runs Cold! Down They All Drop To My Low Level, Ease Heart Upon Dungy Earth That's Warm And Soft, And Let Who Will, Attempt The Altitudes. We Have The Prodigal Son Of Heavenly Sire, Turning His Nose Up At The Fatted Calf, Fain To Fill Belly With The Husks We Swine Did Eat By Born Depravity Of Taste! Enough Of The Hypocrites. But You, Sirs, You Who Never Budged From Litter Where I Lay, And Buried Snout I' The Draff-Box While I Fed, Cried Amen To My Creed'S One Article 'Get Pleasure, 'Scape Pain, Give Your Preference 'To The Immediate Good, For Time Is Brief, 'And Death Ends Good And Ill And Everything: 'What's Got Is Gained, What's Gained Soon Is Gained Twice, 'And, Inasmuch As Faith Gains Most, Feign Faith!' So Did We Brother-Like Pass Word About: You, Now, Like Bloody Drunkards But Half-Drunk, Who Fool Men Yet Perceive Men Find Them Fools, And That A Titter Gains The Gravest Mouth, O'The Sudden You Must Needs Re-Introduce Solemnity, Must Sober Undue Mirth By A Blow Dealt Your Boon Companion Here Who, Using The Old Licence, Dreamed Of Harm No More Than Snow In Harvest: Yet It Falls! You Check The Merriment Effectually By Pushing Your Abrupt Machine I' The Midst, Making Me Rome'S Example: Blood For Wine! The General Good Needs That You Chop And Change! I May Dislike The Hocus-Pocus, Rome, The Laughter-Loving People, Won't They Stare Chap-Fallen! While Serious Natures Sermonise 'The Magistrate, He Beareth Not The Sword 'In Vain; Who Sins May Taste Its Edge, We See!' Why My Sin, Drunkards? Where Have I Abused Liberty, Scandalised You All So Much? Who Called Me, Who Crooked Finger Till I Came, Fool That I Was, To Join Companionship? I Knew My Own Mind, Meant To Live My Life, Elude Your Envy, Or Else Make A Stand, Take My Own Part And Sell You My Life Dear: But It Was 'Fie! No Prejudice In The World 'To The Proper Manly Instinct! Cast Your Lot 'Into Our Lap, One Genius Ruled Our Births, 'We'll Compass Joy By Concert; Take With Us 'The Regular Irregular Way I' The Wood; 'You'll Miss No Game Through Riding Breast By Breast, 'In This Preserve, The Church'S Park And Pale, 'Rather Than Outside Where The World Is Waste!' Come, If You Said Not That, Did You Say This? Give Plain And Terrible Warning, 'Live, Enjoy? 'Such Life Begins In Death And Ends In Hell! 'Dare You Bid Us Assist You To Your Sins 'Who Hurry Sin And Sinners From The Earth? 'No Such Delight For Us, Why Then For You? 'Leave Earth, Seek Heaven Or Find Its Opposite!' Had You So Warned Me, Not In Lying Words But Veritable Deeds With Tongues Of Flame, That Had Been Fair, That Might Have Struck A Man, Silenced The Squabble Between Soul And Sense, Compelled Him Make His Mind Up, Take One Course Or The Other, Peradventure! Wrong Or Right, Foolish Or Wise, You Would Have Been At Least Sincere, No Question, Forced Me Choose, Indulge Or Else Renounce My Instincts, Still Play Wolf Or Find My Way Submissive To The Fold, Be Red-Crossed On The Fleece, One Sheep The More. But You As Good As Bade Me Wear Sheep'S Wool Over Wolf'S Skin, Suck Blood And Hide The Noise By Mimicry Of Something Like A Bleat, Whence It Comes That Because, Despite My Care, Because I Smack My Tongue Too Loud For Once, Drop Baaing, Here'S The Village Up In Arms! Have At The Wolf'S Throat, You Who Hate The Breed! Oh, Were It Only Open To Choose One Little Time More Whether I'd Be Free Your Foe, Or Subsidised Your Friend Forsooth! Should Not You Get A Growl Through The White Fangs In Answer To Your Beckoning! Cardinal, Abate, Managers O' The Multitude, I'd Turn Your Gloved Hands To Account, Be Sure! You Should Manipulate The Coarse Rough Mob: 'Tis You I'd Deal Directly With, Not Them, Using Your Fears: Why Touch The Thing Myself When I Could See You Hunt And Then Cry 'Shares! 'Quarter The Carcass Or We Quarrel; Come, 'Here'S The World Ready To See Justice Done!' Oh, It Had Been A Desperate Game, But Game Wherein The Winner'S Chance Were Worth The Pains To Try Conclusions! At The Worst, What's Worse Than This Mannaia-Machine, Each Minute'S Talk, Helps Push An Inch The Nearer Me? Fool, Fool! You Understand Me And Forgive, Sweet Sirs? I Blame You, Tear My Hair And Tell My Woe All'S But A Flourish, Figure Of Rhetoric! One Must Try Each Expedient To Save Life. One Makes Fools Look Foolisher Fifty-Fold By Putting In Their Place The Wise Like You To Take The Full Force Of An Argument Would Buffet Their Stolidity In Vain. If You Should Feel Aggrieved By The Mere Wind O' The Blow That Means To Miss You And Maul Them, That's My Success! Is It Not Folly, Now, To Say With Folks, 'A Plausible Defence 'We See Through Notwithstanding, And Reject?' Reject The Plausible They Do, These Fools, Who Never Even Make Pretence To Show One Point Beyond Its Plausibility In Favour Of The Best Belief They Hold! 'Saint Somebody-Or-Other Raised The Dead:' Did He? How Do You Come To Know As Much? 'Know It, What Need? The Story'S Plausible, 'Avouched For By A Martyrologist, 'And Why Should Good Men Sup On Cheese And Leeks 'On Such A Saint'S Day, If There Were No Saint?' I Praise The Wisdom Of These Fools, And Straight Tell Them My Story 'Plausible, But False!' False, To Be Sure! What Else Can Story Be That Runs A Young Wife Tired Of An Old Spouse, Found A Priest Whom She Fled Away With, Both Took Their Full Pleasure In The Two-Days' Flight, Which A Grey-Headed Greyer-Hearted Pair, (Whose Best Boast Was, Their Life Had Been A Lie) Helped For The Love They Bore All Liars. Oh, Here Incredulity Begins! Indeed? Allow Then, Were No One Point Strictly True, There'S That I' The Tale Might Seem Like Truth At Least To The Unlucky Husband, Jaundiced Patch, Jealousy Maddens People, Why Not Him? Say, He Was Maddened, So, Forgivable! Humanity Pleads That Though The Wife Were True, The Priest True, And The Pair Of Liars True, They Might Seem False To One Man In The World! A Thousand Gnats Make Up A Serpent'S Sting, And Many Sly Soft Stimulants To Wrath Compose A Formidable Wrong At Last, That Gets Called Easily By Some One Name Not Applicable To The Single Parts, And So Draws Down A General Revenge, Excessive If You Take Crime, Fault By Fault. Jealousy! I Have Known A Score Of Plays, Were Listened To And Laughed At In My Time As Like The Everyday-Life On All Sides, Wherein The Husband, Mad As A March Hare, Suspected All The World Contrived His Shame; What Did The Wife? The Wife Kissed Both Eyes Blind, Explained Away Ambiguous Circumstance, And While She Held Him Captive By The Hand, Crowned His Head, You Know What's The Mockery, By Half Her Body Behind The Curtain. That's Nature Now! That's The Subject Of A Piece I Saw In Vallombrosa Convent, Made Expressly To Teach Men What Marriage Was! But Say 'Just So Did I Misapprehend!' Or 'Just So She Deceived Me To My Face!' And That's Pretence Too Easily Seen Through! All Those Eyes Of All Husbands In All Plays, At Stare Like One Expanded Peacock-Tail, Are Laughed At For Pretending To Be Keen While Horn-Blind: But The Moment I Step Forth Oh, I Must Needs O' The Sudden Prove A Lynx And Look The Heart, That Stone-Wall, Through And Through! Such An Eye, God'S May Be, Not Yours Nor Mine. Yes, Presently . . . What Hour Is Fleeting Now? When You Cut Earth Away From Under Me, I Shall Be Left Alone With, Pushed Beneath Some Such An Apparitional Dread Orb; I Fancy It Go Filling Up The Void Above My Mote-Self It Devours, Or What Immensity Please Wreak On Nothingness. Just So I Felt Once, Couching Through The Dark, Hard By Vittiano; Young I Was, And Gay, And Wanting To Trap Fieldfares: First A Spark Tipped A Bent, As A Mere Dew-Globule Might Any Stiff Grass-Stalk On The Meadow, This Grew Fiercer, Flamed Out Full, And Proved The Sun. What Do I Want With Proverbs, Precepts Here? Away With Man! What Shall I Say To God? This, If I Find The Tongue And Keep The Mind 'Do Thou Wipe Out The Being Of Me, And Smear 'This Soul From Off Thy White Of Things, I Blot! 'I Am One Huge And Sheer Mistake, Whose Fault? 'Not Mine At Least, Who Did Not Make Myself!' Someone Declares My Wife Excused Me So! Perhaps She Knew What Argument To Use. Grind Your Teeth, Cardinal, Abate, Writhe! What Else Am I To Cry Out In My Rage, Unable To Repent One Particle O' The Past? Oh, How I Wish Some Cold Wise Man Would Dig Beneath The Surface Which You Scrape, Deal With The Depths, Pronounce On My Desert Groundedly! I Want Simple Sober Sense, That Asks, Before It Finishes With A Dog, Who Taught The Dog That Trick You Hang Him For? You Both Persist To Call That Act A Crime, Sense Would Call . . . Yes, I Do Assure You, Sirs, . . . A Blunder! At The Worst, I Stood In Doubt On Cross-Road, Took One Path Of Many Paths: It Leads To The Red Thing, We All See Now, But Nobody At First Saw One Primrose In Bank, One Singing-Bird In Bush, The Less, To Warn From Wayfare: Let Me Prove You That! Put Me Back To The Cross-Road, Start Afresh! Advise Me When I Take The First False Step! Give Me My Wife: How Should I Use My Wife, Love Her Or Hate Her? Prompt My Action Now! There She Stands, There She Is Alive And Pale, The Thirteen-Years'-Old Child, With Milk For Blood, Pompilia Comparini, As At First, Which First Is Only Four Brief Years Ago! I Stand Too In The Little Ground-Floor Room O' The Father'S House At Via Vittoria: See! Her So-Called Mother, One Arm Round The Waist O' The Child To Keep Her From The Toys Let Fall, At Wonder I Can Live Yet Look So Grim, Ushers Her In, With Deprecating Wave Of The Other, There She Fronts Me Loose, At Large, Held Only By Her Mother'S Finger-Tip Struck Dumb, For She Was White Enough Before! She Eyes Me With Those Frightened Balls Of Black, As Heifer The Old Simile Comes Pat Eyes Tremblingly The Altar And The Priest: The Amazed Look, All One Insuppressive Prayer, Might She But Be Set Free As Heretofore, Have This Cup Leave Her Lips Unblistered, Bear Any Cross Anywhither Anyhow, So But Alone, So But Apart From Me! You Are Touched? So Am I, Quite Otherwise, If 'Tis With Pity. I Resent My Wrong, Being A Man: We Only Show Man'S Soul Through Man'S Flesh, She Sees Mine, It Strikes Her Thus! Is That Attractive? To A Youth Perhaps Calf-Creature, One-Part Boy To Three-Parts Girl, To Whom It Is A Flattering Novelty That He, Men Use To Motion From Their Path, Can Thus Impose, Thus Terrify In Turn A Chit Whose Terror Shall Be Changed Apace To Bliss Unbearable When, Grace And Glow, Prowess And Pride Descend The Throne And Touch Esther In All That Pretty Tremble, Cured By The Dove O' The Sceptre! But Myself Am Old, O' The Wane At Least, In All Things: What Do You Say To Her Who Frankly Thus Confirms My Doubt? I Am Past The Prime, I Scare The Woman-World, Done-With That Way: You Like This Piece Of News? A Little Saucy Rose-Bud Minx Can Strike Death-Damp Into The Breast Of Doughty King Though 'Twere French Louis, Soul I Understand, Saying, By Gesture Of Repugnance, Just 'Sire, You Are Regal, Puissant And So Forth, 'But Young You Have Been, Are Not, Nor Will Be!' In Vain The Mother Nods, Winks, Bustles Up 'Count, Girls Incline To Mature Worth Like You! 'As For Pompilia, What's Flesh, Fish, Or Fowl 'To One Who Apprehends No Difference, 'And Would Accept You Even Were You Old 'As You Are . . . Youngish By Her Father'S Side? 'Trim But Your Beard A Little, Thin Your Bush 'Of Eyebrow; And For Presence, Portliness 'And Decent Gravity, You Beat A Boy!' Deceive You For A Second, If You May, In Presence Of The Child That So Loves Age, Whose Neck Writhes, Cords Itself Against Your Kiss, Whose Hand You Wring Stark, Rigid With Despair! Well, I Resent This; I Am Young In Soul, Nor Old In Body, Thews And Sinews Here, Though The Vile Surface Be Not Smooth As Once, Far Beyond The First Wheelwork That Went Wrong Through The Untempered Iron Ere 'Twas Proof: I Am The Steel Man Worth Ten Times The Crude, Would Woman See What This Declines To See, Declines To Say 'I See,' The Officious Word That Makes The Thing, Pricks On The Soul To Shoot New Fire Into The Half-Used Cinder, Flesh! Therefore 'Tis She Begins With Wronging Me, Who Cannot But Begin With Hating Her. Our Marriage Follows: There We Stand Again! Why Do I Laugh? Why, In The Very Gripe O' The Jaws Of Death'S Gigantic Skull Do I Grin Back His Grin, Make Sport Of My Own Pangs? Why From Each Clashing Of His Molars, Ground To Make The Devil Bread From Out My Grist, Leaps Out A Spark Of Mirth, A Hellish Toy? Take Notice We Are Lovers In A Church, Waiting The Sacrament To Make Us One And Happy! Just As Bid, She Bears Herself, Comes And Kneels, Rises, Speaks, Is Silent, Goes: So Have I Brought My Horse, By Word And Blow, To Stand Stock-Still And Front The Fire He Dreads. How Can I Other Than Remember This, Resent The Very Obedience? Gain Thereby? Yes, I Do Gain My End And Have My Will, Thanks To Whom? When The Mother Speaks The Word, She Obeys It Even To Enduring Me! There Had Been Compensation In Revolt Revolt'S To Quell: But Martyrdom Rehearsed, But Determined Saintship For The Sake O' The Mother? 'Go!' Thought I, 'We Meet Again!' Pass The Next Weeks Of Dumb Contented Death, She Lives, Wakes Up, Installed In House And Home, Is Mine, Mine All Day-Long, All Night-Long Mine. Good Folks Begin At Me With Open Mouth 'Now, At Least, Reconcile The Child To Life! 'Study And Make Her Love . . . That Is, Endure 'The . . . Hem! The . . . All Of You Though Somewhat Old, 'Till It Amount To Something, In Her Eye, 'As Good As Love, Better A Thousand Times 'Since Nature Helps The Woman In Such Strait, 'Makes Passiveness Her Pleasure: Failing Which, 'What If You Give Up Boys' And Girls' Fools'-Play 'And Go On To Wise Friendship All At Once? 'Those Boys And Girls Kiss Themselves Cold, You Know. 'Toy Themselves Tired And Slink Aside Full Soon 'To Friendship, As They Name Satiety; 'Thither Go You And Wait Their Coming!' Thanks, Considerate Advisers, But, Fair Play! Had You And I But Started Fair At First We, Keeping Fair, Might Reach It, Neck By Neck, This Blessed Goal, Whenever Fate So Please: But Why Am I To Miss The Daisied Mile The Course Begins With, Why Obtain The Dust Of The End Precisely At The Starting-Point? Why Quaff Life'S Cup Blown Free Of All The Beads, The Bright Red Froth Wherein Our Beard Should Steep Before Our Mouth Essay The Black O' The Wine? Foolish, The Love-Fit? Let Me Prove It Such Like You, Before Like You I Puff Things Clear! 'The Best'S To Come, No Rapture But Content! 'Not The First Glory But A Sober Glow, 'Nor A Spontaneous Outburst In Pure Boon, 'So Much As, Gained By Patience, Care And Toil!' Go Preach That To Your Nephews, Not To Me Who, Tired I' The Midway Of My Life, Would Stop And Take My First Refreshment In A Rose: What's This Coarse Woolly Hip, Worn Smooth Of Leaf, You Counsel I Go Plant In Garden-Pot, Water With Tears, Manure With Sweat And Blood, In Confidence The Seed Shall Germinate And, For Its Very Best, Some Far-Off Day, Grow Big, And Blow Me Out A Dog-Rose Bell? Why Must Your Nephews Begin Breathing Spice O' The Hundred-Petalled Provence Prodigy? Nay, More And Worse, Would Such My Root Bear Rose Prove Really Flower And Favourite, Not The Kind That's Queen, But Those Three Leaves That Make One Cup. And Hold The Hedge-Bird'S Breakfast, Then Indeed The Prize Though Poor Would Pay The Care And Toil! Respect We Nature That Makes Least As Most, Marvellous In The Minim! But This Bud, Bit Through And Burned Black By The Tempter'S Tooth, This Bloom Whose Best Grace Was The Slug Outside And The Wasp Inside Its Bosom, Call You 'Rose?' Claim No Immunity From A Weed'S Fate For The Horrible Present! What You Call My Wife I Call A Nullity In Female Shape, Vapid Disgust, Soon To Be Pungent Plague, When Mixed With, Made Confusion And A Curse By Two Abominable Nondescripts, That Father And That Mother: Think You See The Dreadful Bronze Our Boast, We Aretines, The Etruscan Monster, The Three-Headed Thing, Bellerophon'S Foe! How Name You The Whole Beast? You Choose To Name The Body From One Head, That Of The Simple Kid Which Droops The Eye, Hangs The Neck And Dies Tenderly Enough: I Rather See The Griesly Lion Belch Flame Out I' The Midst, The Serpent Writhe Her Rings, Grafted Into The Common Stock For Tail, And Name The Brute, Chim'Ra, Which I Slew! How Was There Ever More To Be (Concede My Wife'S Insipid Harmless Nullity) Dissociation From That Pair Of Plagues That Mother With Her Cunning And Her Cant The Eyes With First Their Twinkle Of Conceit, Then, Dropped To Earth In Mock-Demureness, Now, The Smile Self-Satisfied From Ear To Ear Now, The Prim Pursed-Up Mouth'S Protruded Lips, With Deferential Duck, Slow Swing Of Head, Tempting The Sudden Fist Of Man Too Much, That Owl-Like Screw Of Lid And Rock Of Ruff! As For The Father, Cardinal, You Know, The Kind Of Idiot! Rife Are Such In Rome, But They Wear Velvet Commonly, Such Fools, At The End Of Life, Can Furnish Forth Young Folk Who Grin And Bear With Imbecility, Since The Stalled Ass, The Joker, Sheds From Jaw Corn, In The Joke, For Those Who Laugh Or Starve: But What Say We To The Same Solemn Beast Wagging His Ears And Wishful Of Our Pat, When Turned, With Hide In Holes And Bones Laid Bare, To Forage For Himself I' The Waste O' The World, Sir Dignity I' The Dumps? Pat Him? We Drub Self-Knowledge, Rather, Into Frowzy Pate, Teach Pietro To Get Trappings Or Go Hang! Fancy This Quondam Oracle In Vogue At Via Vittoria, This Personified Authority When Time Was, Pantaloon Flaunting His Tom-Fool Tawdry Just The Same As If Ash-Wednesday Were Mid-Carnival! That's The Extreme And Unforgivable Of Sins, As I Account Such. Have You Stooped For Your Own Ends To Bestialise Yourself By Flattery Of A Fellow Of This Stamp? The Ends Obtained, Or Else Shown Out Of Reach, He Goes On, Takes The Flattery For Pure Truth, 'You Love And Honour Me, Of Course: What Next?' What, But The Trifle Of The Stabbing, Friend? Which Taught You How One Worships When The Shrine Has Lost The Relic That We Bent Before. Angry? And How Could I Be Otherwise? 'Tis Plain: This Pair Of Old Pretentious Fools Meant To Fool Me: It Happens, I Fooled Them, Why Could Not These Who Sought To Buy And Sell Me, When They Found Themselves Were Bought And Sold, Make Up Their Mind To The Proved Rule Of Right, Be Chattel And Not Chapman Any More? Miscalculation Has Its Consequence; But When The Shepherd Crooks A Sheep-Like Thing And Meaning To Get Wool, Dislodges Fleece And Finds The Veritable Wolf Beneath, (How That Staunch Image Serves At Every Turn!) Does He, By Way Of Being Politic, Pluck The First Whisker Grimly Visible? Or Rather Grow In A Trice All Gratitude, Protest This Sort-Of-What-One-Might-Name Sheep Beats The Old Other Curly-Coated Kind, And Shall Share Board And Bed, If So It Deign, With Its Discoverer, Like A Royal Ram? Ay, Thus, With Chattering Teeth And Knocking Knees, Would Wisdom Treat The Adventure: These, Forsooth, Tried Whisker-Plucking, And So Found What Trap The Whisker Kept Perdue, Two Rows Of Teeth Sharp, As Too Late The Prying Fingers Felt. What Would You Have? The Fools Transgress, The Fools Forthwith Receive Appropriate Punishment: They First Insult Me, I Return The Blow, There Follows Noise Enough: Four Hubbub Months, Now Hue And Cry, Now Whimpering And Wail A Perfect Goose-Yard Cackle Of Complaint Because I Do Not Gild The Geese Their Oats, I Have Enough Of Noise, Ope Wicket Wide, Sweep Out The Couple To Go Whine Elsewhere, Frightened A Little, Hurt In No Respect, And Am Just Taking Thought To Breathe Again, Taste The Sweet Sudden Silence All About, When, There They Are At It, The Old Noise I Know, At Rome I' The Distance! 'What, Begun Once More? 'Whine On, Wail Ever, 'Tis The Loser'S Right!' But Eh, What Sort Of Voice Grows On The Wind? Triumph It Sounds And No Complaint At All! And Triumph It Is! My Boast Was Premature: The Creatures, I Turned Forth, Clapped Wing And Crew Fighting-Cock-Fashion, They Had Filched A Pearl From Dung-Heap, And Might Boast With Cause Enough! I Was Defrauded Of All Bargained For, You Know, The Pope Knows, Not A Soul But Knows My Dowry Was Derision, My Gain Muck, My Wife (The Church Declared My Flesh And Blood) The Nameless Bastard Of A Common Whore: My Old Name Turned Henceforth To . . . Shall I Say 'He That Received The Ordure In His Face?' And They Who Planned This Wrong, Performed This Wrong, And Then Revealed This Wrong To The Wide World, Rounded Myself In The Ears With My Own Wrong, Why, These Were . . . Note Hell'S Lucky Malice, Now! . . . These Were Just They, And They Alone, Could Act And Publish In This Wise Their Infamy, Secure That Men Would In A Breath Believe Compassionate And Pardon Them, For Why? They Plainly Were Too Stupid To Invent, Too Simple To Distinguish Wrong From Right, Inconscious Agents They, The Silly-Sooth, Of Heaven'S Retributive Justice On The Strong Proud Cunning Violent Oppressor Me! Follow Them To Their Fate And Help Your Best, You Rome, Arezzo, Foes Called Friends Of Mine, They Gave The Good Long Laugh To At My Cost! Defray Your Share O' The Cost Since You Partook The Entertainment! Do! Assured The While, That Not One Stab, I Dealt To Right And Left, But Went The Deeper For A Fancy This That Each Might Do Me Two-Fold Service, Find A Friend'S Face At The Bottom Of Each Wound, And Scratch Its Smirk A Little! Panciatichi! There'S A Report At Florence, Is It True? That When Your Relative The Cardinal Built, Only The Other Day, That Barrack-Bulk, The Palace In Via Larga, Some One Picked From Out The Street A Saucy Quip Enough That Fell There From Its Day'S Flight Through The Town, About The Flat Front And The Windows Wide And Ugly Heap Of Cornice, Hitched The Joke Into A Sonnet, Signed His Name Thereto, And Forthwith Pinned On Post The Pleasantry. For Which He'S At The Galleys, Rowing Now Up To His Waist In Water, Just Because Panciatic And Lymphatic Rhymed So Pat: I Hope, Sir, Those Who Passed This Joke On Me Were Not Unduly Punished? What Say You, Prince Of The Church, My Patron? Nay, Indeed! I Shall Not Dare Insult Your Wits So Much As Think This Problem Difficult To Solve! This Pietro And Violante, Then, I Say, These Two Ambiguous Insects, Changing Name And Nature With The Season'S Warmth Or Chill, Now, Grovelled, Grubbing Toiling Moiling Ants, A Very Synonym Of Thrift And Peace, Anon, With Lusty June To Prick Their Heart, Soared I' The Air, Winged Flies For More Offence, Circled Me, Buzzed Me Deaf And Stung Me Blind, And Stunk Me Dead With Fetor In The Face Until I Stopped The Nuisance: There'S My Crime! Pity I Did Not Suffer Them Subside Into Some Further Shape And Final Form Of Execrable Life? My Masters, No! I, By One Blow, Wisely Cut Short At Once Them And Their Transformations Of Disgust In The Snug Little Villa Out Of Hand. 'Grant Me Confession, Give Bare Time For That!' Shouted The Sinner Till His Mouth Was Stopped. His Life Confessed! That Was Enough For Me, Who Came To See That He Did Penance. 'S Death! Here'S A Coil Raised, A Pother And For What? Because Strength, Being Provoked By Weakness, Fought And Conquered, The World Never Heard The Like! Pah, How I Spend My Breath On Them, As If 'Twas Their Fate Troubled Me, Too Hard To Range Among The Right And Fit And Proper Things! Ay, But Pompilia, I Await Your Word, She, Unimpeached Of Crime, Unimplicate In Folly, One Of Alien Blood To These I Punish, Why Extend My Claim, Exact Her Portion Of The Penalty? Yes, Friends, I Go Too Fast: The Orator'S At Fault: Yes, Ere I Lay Her, With Your Leave, By Them As She Was Laid At San Lorenzo Late, I Ought To Step Back, Lead Her By Degrees, Recounting At Each Step Some Fresh Offence, Up To The Red Bed, Never Fear, I Will! Gaze On Her, Where You Place Her, To Begin, Confound Me With Her Gentleness And Worth! The Horrible Pair Have Fled And Left Her Now, She Has Her Husband For Her Sole Concern, His Wife, The Woman Fashioned For His Help, Flesh Of His Flesh, Bone Of His Bone, The Bride To Groom As Is The Church And Spouse, To Christ: There She Stands In His Presence, 'Thy Desire 'Shall Be To The Husband, O'Er Thee Shall He Rule!' 'Pompilia, Who Declare That You Love God, 'You Know Who Said That: Then, Desire My Love, 'Yield Me Contentment And Be Ruled Aright!' She Sits Up, She Lies Down, She Comes And Goes, Kneels At The Couch-Side, Overleans The Sill O' The Window, Cold And Pale And Mute As Stone, Strong As Stone Also. 'Well, Are They Not Fled? 'Am I Not Left, Am I Not One For All? 'Speak A Word, Drop A Tear, Detach A Glance, 'Bless Me Or Curse Me Of Your Own Accord! 'Is It The Ceiling Only Wants Your Soul, 'Is Worth Your Eyes?' And Then The Eyes Descend And Do Look At Me. Is It At The Meal? 'Speak!' She Obeys, 'Be Silent!' She Obeys, Counting The Minutes Till I Cry 'Depart,' As Brood-Bird When You Saunter Past Her Eggs, Departed, Just The Same Through Door And Wall I See The Same Stone Strength Of White Despair. And All This Will Be Never Otherwise! Before, The Parents' Presence Lent Her Life: She Could Play Off Her Sex'S Armoury, Intreat, Reproach, Be Female To My Male, Try All The Shrieking Doubles Of The Hare, Go Clamour To The Commissary, Bid The Archbishop Hold My Hands And Stop My Tongue, And Yield Fair Sport So: But The Tactics Change, The Hare Stands Stock-Still To Enrage The Hound! Since That Day When She Learned She Was No Child Of Those She Thought Her Parents, That Their Trick Had Tricked Me Whom She Thought Sole Trickster Late, Why, I Suppose She Said Within Herself 'Then, No More Struggle For My Parents' Sake, 'And, For My Own Sake, Why Needs Struggle Be?' But Is There No Third Party To The Pact? What Of Her Husband'S Relish Or Dislike For This New Game Of Giving Up The Game, This Worst Offence Of Not Offending More? I'll Not Believe But Instinct Wrought In This, Set Her On To Conceive And Execute The Preferable Plague . . . How Sure They Probe, These Jades, The Sensitivest Soft Of Man! The Long Black Hair Was Wound Now In A Wisp, Crowned Sorrow Better Than The Wild Web Late: No More Soiled Dress, 'Tis Trimness Triumphs Now, For How Should Malice Go With Negligence? The Frayed Silk Looked The Fresher For Her Spite! There Was An End To Springing Out Of Bed, Praying Me, With Face Buried On My Feet, Be Hindered Of My Pastime, So An End To My Rejoinder, 'What, On The Ground At Last? 'Vanquished In Fight, A Supplicant For Life? 'What If I Raise You? 'Ware The Casting Down 'When Next You Fight Me!' Then, She Lay There, Mine: Now, Mine She Is If I Please Wring Her Neck, A Moment Of Disquiet, Working Eyes, Protruding Tongue, A Long Sigh, Then No More As If One Killed The Horse One Could Not Ride! Had I Enjoined 'Cut Off The Hair!' Why, Snap The Scissors, And At Once A Yard Or So Had Fluttered In Black Serpents To The Floor: But Till I Did Enjoin It, How She Combs, Uncurls And Draws Out To The Complete Length, Plaits, Places The Insulting Rope On Head To Be An Eyesore Past Dishevelment! Is All Done? Then Sit Still Again And Stare! I Advise No One Think To Bear That Look Of Steady Wrong, Endured As Steadily, Through What Sustainment Of Deluding Hope? Who Is The Friend I' The Background That Notes All? Who May Come Presently And Close Accounts? This Self-Possession To The Uttermost, How Does It Differ In Aught, Save Degree, From The Terrible Patience Of God? 'All Which Just Means, 'She Did Not Love You!' Again The Word Is Launched And The Fact Fronts Me! What, You Try The Wards With The True Key And The Dead Lock Flies Ope? No, It Sticks Fast And Leaves You Fumbling Still! You Have Some Fifty Servants, Cardinal, Which Of Them Loves You? Which Subordinate But Makes Parade Of Such Officiousness That, If There'S No Love Prompts It, Love, The Sham, Does Twice The Service Done By Love, The True. God Bless Us Liars, Where'S One Touch Of Truth In What We Tell The World, Or World Tells Us, Oh How We Like Each Other? All The Same, We Calculate On Word And Deed, Nor Err, Bid Such A Man Do Such A Loving Act, Sure Of Effect And Negligent Of Cause, Just As We Bid A Horse, With Cluck Of Tongue, Stretch His Legs Arch-Wise, Crouch His Saddled Back To Foot-Reach Of The Stirrup All For Love, And Some For Memory Of The Smart Of Switch On The Inside Of The Foreleg What Care We? Yet Where'S The Bond Obliges Horse To Man Like That Which Binds Fast Wife To Husband? God Laid Down The Law: Gave Man The Brawny Arm And Ball Of Fist Woman The Beardless Cheek And Proper Place To Suffer In The Side: Since It Is He Can Strike, Let Her Obey! Can She Feel No Love? Let Her Show The More, Sham The Worse, Damn Herself Praiseworthily! Who'S That Soprano Rome Went Mad About Last Week While I Lay Rotting In My Straw? The Very Jailor Gossiped In His Praise How, Dressed Up Like Armida, Though A Man; And Painted To Look Pretty, Though A Fright, He Still Made Love So That The Ladies Swooned, Being An Eunuch. 'Ah, Rinaldo Mine! 'But To Breathe By Thee While Jove Slays Us Both!' All The Poor Bloodless Creature Never Felt, Si, Do, Re, Me, Fa, Squeak And Squall For What? Two Gold Zecchines The Evening! Here'S My Slave, Whose Body And Soul Depend Upon My Nod, Can'T Falter Out The First Note In The Scale For Her Life! Why Blame Me If I Take The Life? All Women Cannot Give Men Love, Forsooth! No, Nor All Pullets Lay The Henwife Eggs Whereat She Bids Them Remedy The Fault, Brood On A Chalk-Ball: Soon The Nest Is Stocked Otherwise, To The Plucking And The Spit! This Wife Of Mine Was Of Another Mood Would Not Begin The Lie That Ends With Truth, Nor Feign The Love That Brings Real Love About: Wherefore I Judged, Sentenced And Punished Her. But Why Particularise, Defend The Deed? Say That I Hated Her For No One Cause Beyond My Pleasure So To Do, What Then? Just On As Much Incitement Acts The World, All Of You! Look And Like! You Favour One, Brow-Beat Another, Leave Alone A Third, Why Should You Master Natural Caprice? Pure Nature! Try Plant Elm By Ash In File; Both Unexceptionable Trees Enough, They Ought To Overlean Each Other, Pair At Top And Arch Across The Avenue The Whole Path To The Pleasaunce: Do They So Or Loathe, Lie Off Abhorrent Each From Each? Lay The Fault Elsewhere, Since We Must Have Faults: Mine Shall Have Been, Seeing There'S Ill In The End Come Of My Course, That I Fare Somehow Worse For The Way I Took, My Fault . . . As God'S My Judge I See Not Where The Fault Lies, That's The Truth! I Ought . . . Oh, Ought In My Own Interest Have Let The Whole Adventure Go Untried, This Chance By Marriage, Or Else, Trying It, Ought To Have Turned It To Account Some One O' The Hundred Otherwises? Ay, My Friend, Easy To Say, Easy To Do, Step Right Now You'Ve Stepped Left And Stumbled On The Thing, The Red Thing! Doubt I Any More Than You That Practice Makes Man Perfect? Give Again The Chance, Same Marriage And No Other Wife, Be Sure I'll Edify You! That's Because I'M Practised, Grown Fit Guide For Guido'S Self. You Proffered Guidance, I Know, None So Well, You Laid Down Law And Rolled Decorum Out, From Pulpit-Corner On The Gospel-Side, Wanted To Make Your Great Experience Mine, Save Me The Personal Search And Pains So: Thanks! Take Your Word On Life'S Use? When I Take His The Muzzled Ox That Treadeth Out The Corn, Gone Blind In Padding Round And Round One Path, As To The Taste Of Green Grass In The Field! What Do You Know O' The World That's Trodden Flat And Salted Sterile With Your Daily Dung, Leavened Into A Lump Of Loathsomeness? Take Your Opinion Of The Modes Of Life, The Aims Of Life, Life'S Triumph Or Defeat, How To Feel, How To Scheme And How To Do Or Else Leave Undone? You Preached Long And Loud On High-Days, 'Take Our Doctrine Upon Trust! 'Into The Mill-House With You! Grind Our Corn, 'Relish Our Chaff, And Let The Green Grass Grow!' I Tried Chaff, Found I Famished On Such Fare, So Made This Mad Rush At The Mill-House-Door, Buried My Head Up To The Ears In Dew, Browsed On The Best, For Which You Brain Me, Sirs! Be It So! I Conceived Of Life That Way, And Still Declare Life, Without Absolute Use Of The Actual Sweet Therein, Is Death, Not Life. Give Me, Pay Down, Not Promise, Which Is Air, Something That's Out Of Life And Better Still, Make Sure Reward, Make Certain Punishment, Entice Me, Scare Me, I'll Forego This Life; Otherwise, No! The Less That Words, Mere Wind, Would Cheat Me Of Some Minutes While They Plague. The Fulness Of Revenge Here, Blame Yourselves For This Eruption Of The Pent-Up Soul You Prisoned First And Played With Afterward! 'Deny Myself' Meant Simply Pleasure You, The Sacred And Superior, Save The Mark! You, Whose Stupidity And Insolence I Must Defer To, Soothe At Every Turn, Whos