CXLIII. Voltaire in tragic exit! vows, no doubt, trounce Either, in point of fact? His anger's flash Subsided if a culprit craved his cash. CXXXIX. As for La Roque, he having laughed his laugh To heart's content, — the joke defunct at once, Dead in the birth, you see, its epitaph Was sober earnest. "Well, sir, for the nonce, You've gained the laurel; never hope to graff A second spring of triumph there! En sconce Yourself again at Croisic: let it be The world will eat its words! why, words transfixed To stone, they stare at you in print, at end, Each writer's style and title! Choose 40 betwixt Fool and knave for his name, who should intend To perpetrate a baseness so unmixed With prospect of advantage! What is writ Is writ: they've praised me, there's an end of it. CXLIV. "No, Dear, allow me! I shall print these same Pieces, with no omitted line, as Paul's. Enough you mastered both Voltaire and Malcrais no longer, let me see folk blame praised simply? — placed me! What they on pedestals, Each piece a statue in the House of Fame! Fast will they stand there, though their 50 presence galls The envious crew: such show their teeth, perhaps, And snarl, but never bite! I know the chaps!" And, when they seem to lose it, win the Care not thou what this badger, and that fox, His fellow in rascality, call "fame!" Fiddlepin's end! Thou hadst it, quack, quack! quack Have quietude from geese at Bergerac! CLI. Now, take this sparkle and the other spirt Of fitful flame, twin births of our grey brand That's sinking fast to ashes! I assert, Will quench too quickly, so might Croisic strand, Had Fortune pleased posterity to chowse, CLIV. Did earlier Agamemnons lack their bard? Just because Fortune, as she listed, blew Some slight bark's sails to bellying, mauled and marred And forced to put about the First-rate! Such tacks but for a time: still-small- S0 True, craft ride At anchor, rot while Beddoes breasts the tide! CLV. Dear, shall I tell you? There's a simple test Would serve, when people take on them to weigh The worth of poets, "Who was better, best, As good, observe! no matter for the rest) 30 Paul's story furnished forth that famous By asking "Which one led a happy life?” play Of Piron's "Métromanic": there you'll find He's Francaleu, while Demoiselle Malcrais Is Demoiselle No-end-of-names-behind! As for Voltaire, he's Damis. Good and gay The plot and dialogue, and all's designed To spite Voltaire: at "Something" such the laugh Of simply "Nothing!" (see his epitaph). Therefore I say no, shall not say, And save my breath for better purpose. 30 From grey our log has burned to: just one That quivers, loth to leave it, as a sprite The outworn body. Ere your eyelids' wink Your mouth up, for two poets dead so long, Here pleads a live pretender: right your wrong! I. What a pretty tale you told me -Said you found it somewhere (scold me !) II. Anyhow there's no forgetting Yes, a bard, sir, famed of yore, III. Well, he had to sing, nor merely Quite as singing: I desire, IV. There stood he, while deep attention To detect the slightest sound V. None the less he sang out boldly, Till the judges, weighing coldly VI. When, a mischief! Were they seven Thank you! Well, sir, who had One of those same seven strings snapped. VII. All was lost, then! No! a cricket Punish who sealed so deep into the night | Lighted on the crippled lyre. 40 50 60 70 God forgive me, that I pray, unhappy Martin Relph, As coward, coward I call him him! Away from me! him, yes, By the red-coats round us villagers all: "You clowns on the slope, beware!" cried state above them perhaps will learn That peasants should stick to their ploughtail, leave to the King the King's con cern. "Here's a quarrel that sets the land on fire, between King George and his foes: Get you behind the man I am now, you What call has a man of your kind -- much 30 man that I used to be! What can have sewed my mouth up, set me a-stare, all eyes, no tongue? Ic People have urged "You visit a scare too hard on a lad so young! You were taken aback, poor boy," they urge, no time to regain your wits: Besides it had maybe cost you life." Ay, there is the cap which fits! So, cap me, the coward, -thus! No fear! A cuff on the brow does good: The feel of it hinders a worm inside which bores at the brain for food. See now, there certainly seems excuse: for a moment, I trust, dear friends, The fault was but folly, no fault of mine, or if mine, I have made amends! less, a woman — to interpose? Yet you needs must be meddling, folk like so much the worse! you, not foes The many and loyal should keep themselves unmixed with the few perverse. "Is the counsel hard to follow? I gave it you plainly a month ago, And where was the good? The rebels have learned just all that they need to know. Not a month since in we quietly marched: a week, and they had the news, From a list complete of our rank and file to a note of our caps and shoes. "All about all we did and all we were doing and like to do! Only, I catch a letter by luck, and capture who wrote it, too. Some of you men look black enough, but "Is it 'Dearie, how much I miss your and our creeper which came.to grief Through the frost, we feared, is twining afresh round casement in famous leaf.' 1153 |