TH€ UNlYeRSlTY Oe CALlfORNlfl LIBRARY CISGLISH SCMINAR Cowd^'sst ^9fVi> WSW CtnJI fw ^c^-Oi^wiW. ^tvOcub ^<^c. D, 1676. I. " No, boy, we must not " — so began My Uncle (he's with God long since) A-petting me, the good old man ! " We must not " — and he seemed to wince. And lost that laugh whereto had grown His chuckle at my piece of news, How cleverly I aimed my stone — " I fear we must not pelt the Jews ! 2. " When I was young indeed, — ah, faith Was young and strong in Florence too ! We Christians never dreamed of scathe Because we cursed or kicked the crew. ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL. 137 But now — well, well ! The olive-crops Weighed double then, and Arno's pranks Would always spare religious shops Whenever he o'erflowed his banks ! 3. " I'll tell you " — and his eye regained Its twinkle — " tell you something choice ! Something may help you keep unstained Your honest zeal to stop the voice Of unbelief with stone-throw — spite Of laws, which modern fools enact, That we must suffer Jews in sight Go wholly unmolested ! Fact ! 4. " There was, then, in my youth, and yet Is, by San Frediano, just Below the Blessed Olivet, A wayside ground wherein they thrust 138 FILIPPO BALDINUCCI Their dead, — these Jews, — the more our shame Except that, so they will but die, We may perchance incur no blame In giving hogs a hoist to sty. 5- " There, anyhow, Jews stow away Their dead ; and, — such their insolence, — Slink at odd times to sing and pray As Christians do — all make-pretence ! — Which wickedness they perpetrate Because they think no Christians see. They reckoned here, at any rate, Without their host : ha, ha, he, he ! " For, what should join their plot of ground But a good Farmer's Christian field ? The Jews had hedged their corner round With bramble-bush to keep concealed ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BUR/AL. 139 Their doings : for the public road Ran betwixt this their ground and that The Farmer's, where he ploughed and sowed, Grew corn for barn and grapes for vat. 7. " So, properly to guard his store And gall the unbelievers too, .He builds a shrine and, what is more, Procures a painter whom I knew, One Buti (he's with God) to paint A holy picture there — no less Than Virgin Mary free from taint Borne to the sky by angels : yes ! 8. "Which shrine he fixed, — who says him nay?- A-facing with its picture-side Not, as you'd think, the public way. But just where sought these hounds to hide I40 ' FILIPPO BALDINUCCI Their carrion from that very truth Of Mary's triumph : not a hound Could act his mummeries uncouth But Mary shamed the pack all round ! 9- " Now, if it was amusing, judge ! — To see the company arrive, Each Jew intent to end his trudge And take his pleasure (though alive) With all his Jewish kith and kin Below ground, have his venom out, Sharpen his wits for next day's sin, Curse Christians, and so home, no doubt ! "Whereas, each phiz upturned beholds Mary, I warrant, soaring brave ! And in a trice, beneath the folds Of filthy garb which gowns each knave, ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL, 141 Down drops it — there to hide grimace, Contortion of the mouth and nose At finding Mary in the place They'd keep for Pilate, I suppose ! "At last, they will not brook — not they!- Longer such outrage on their tribe : So, in some hole and corner, lay Their heads together — how to bribe The meritorious Farmer's self To straight undo his work, restore Their chance to meet, and muse on pelf — Pretending sorrow, as before ! 12. " Forthwith, a posse, if you please, Of Rabbi This and Rabbi That Almost go down upon their knees To get him lay the picture flat. 142 FILIPPO DALDINUCCI The spokesman, eighty years of age, Gray as a badger, with a goat's — Not only beard but bleat, 'gins wage War with our Mary. Thus he dotes : • ^3- ^^ ^ Friends, grant a grace! How Hebrews toil Through life in Florence — why relate To those who lay the burden, spoil Our paths of peace 1 We bear our fate. But when with life the long toil ends, Why must you — the expression craves Pardon, but truth compels me, frie?ids I — Why must you plague us in our graves ? 14. " * Thoughtlessly plague, I would believe / For how can you — the lords of ease By nurture, birthright — e'en conceive Our luxury to Us with trees ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL, 143 And turf, — the cricket and the bird Left for our last compa?ilonshlp : No harsh deed, no unkindly word, No frowning brow nor scornful lip ! 15- " ' Death^s luxury, we now rehearse While, living, through your streets we fare And take your hatred : nothing worse Have we, once dead a?td safe, to bear ! So we refresh our souls, fulfil Our works, our dally tasks ; and thus Gather you grain — earth's harvest — still The wheat for you, the straw for us, 16. " * What flouting in a face, what, harm, In just a lady borne aloft By boys^ heads, wings for leg and arm ? ^ You question. Friends, the harm Is here — 144 FILIPPO BALDINUCCI That just when our last sigh is heaved, And we would fain thank God and you For labor do?ie and peace achieved, Back comes the Past in full review / "*^/ sight of Just that simple fag, Starts the foefeeling serpe?tt-like From slumber. Leave it lulled, nor drag — Though fanglcss — forth, what needs must strike Whe?t stricken sore^ though stroke be vain Against the mailed oppressor I Give Flay to our fancy that we gain Life's rights when once we cease to live! i8. " * Thus much to courtesy, to kind, To conscience I Now to Florence folk! There's core beneath tJiis applc-rind. Beneath this w/iite-ofegg there's yolk! ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL, 145 Beneath this prayer to courtesy^ Kind, conscience — there's a siun to pouch ! How many ducats down will buy Our shame^s removal, sirs ? Avouch I 19- " * Removal, not destruction, sirs / yust turn your picture I Let it front The public path I Or memory errs. Or that same public path is wont To witness many a chance befall Of lust, theft, bloodshed — sins enough, Wherein our Hebrew part is small. Convert yourselves / ' — he cut up rough. 20. "Look you, how soon a service paid Religion yields the servant fruit ! A prompt reply our Farmer made So following : ^ Sirs, to grant your suit 146 FILIPPO BALDINUCCI Involves much danger ! Howl Transpose Our Lady ? Stop the chastisement^ All for your good, herself bestows ? What wonder if I grudge consent ? " ' — Yet grant it : since, what cash I take Is so much saved from wicked use. We know you I And, for Marfs sake, A hundred ducats shall induce Concession to your prayer. One day Suffices : Master Buti^s brush Turns Mary round the other way, And deluges your side with slush. ^^ ^ Down with the ducats therefore T Dump, Dump, dump it falls, each counted piece, Hard gold. Then out of door they stump, These dogs, each brisk as with new lease ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL, 147 Of life, I warrant, — glad he'll die Henceforward just as he may choose, Be buried and in clover lie ! Well said Esaias — * stiff-necked jfews ! ' 23. "Off posts without a minute's loss Our Farmer, once the cash in poke, And summons Buti — ere its gloss Have time to fade from off the joke — To chop and change his w^ork, undo The done side, make the side, now blank. Recipient of our Lady — who, Displaced thus, had these dogs to thank ! 24. "Now, boy, you're hardly to instruct In technicalities of Art ! My nephew's childhood sure has sucked Along with mother's-milk some part 148 FILIPPO BALDINUCCI Of painter's-practice — learned, at least, How expeditiously is plied A work in fresco — never ceased When once begun — a day, each side 25- "So, Buti — (he's with God) — begins: First covers up the shrine all round With hoarding; then, as like as twins, Paints, t'other side the burial-ground, New Mary, every point the same ; Next, sluices over, as agreed. The old; and last — but, spoil the game By telling you ? Not I, indeed ! 26. "Well, ere the week was half at end, Out came the object of this zeal, This fine alacrity to spend Hard money for mere dead men's weal! ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL, 149 How think you ? That old spokesman Jew Was High Priest, and he had a wife As old, and she was dying too, And wished to end in peace her life ! 27. " And he must humor dying whims, And soothe her with the idle hope They'd say their prayers and sing their hymns As if her husband were the Pope ! And she did die — believing just This privilege was purchased ! Dead In comfort through her foolish trust! * Stiff-necked ones^ well Esaias said ! " So, Sabbath morning, out of gate And on to way, what sees our arch Good Farmer? Why, they hoist their freight — The corpse — on shoulder, and so, march ! 150 FILIPPO BALDINUCCI ^ Now for if, Buti!^ In the nick Of time 'tis pully-hauly, hence With hoarding ! O'er the wayside quick There's Mary plain in evidence ! 29. " And here's the convoy halting : right ! O they are bent on howling psalms And growling prayers, when opposite 1 And yet they glance, for all their qualms, Approve that promptitude of his. The Farmer's — duly at his post To take due thanks from every phiz, Sour smirk — nay, surly smile almost! 30- " Then earthward drops each brow again ; The solemn task's resumed ; they reach Their holy field — the unholy train : Enter its precinct, all and each. ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL, 151 Wrapt somehow in their godless rites ; Till, rites at end, up-waking, lo They lift their faces ! What delights The mourners as they turn to go ? 31- " Ha, ha, he, he ! On just the side They drew. their purse-strings to make quit Of Mary, — Christ the Crucified Fronted them now — these biters bit ! Never was such a hiss and snort. Such screwing nose and shooting lip ! Their purchase — honey in report — Proved gall and verjuice at first sip ! 32. " Out they break, on they bustle, where, A-top of wall, the Farmer waits With Buti : never fun so rare 1 The Farmer has the best : he rates 152 FILIPPO BALDINUCCT The rascal, as the old High Priest Takes on himself to sermonize — Nay, sneer, ' We Jews supposed^ at leasts Theft was a crime in Christian eyes ! ' " * Theft ? ' cries the Farmer, * Eat your words ! Show me what constitutes a breach Of faith in aught was said or heard ! I promised you in plainest speech Td take the thing you count disgrace And put it here — and here Uis put I Did you suppose I^d leave the place Blank therefore^ just your rage to glut ? 34. " ' / guess you dared not stipulate For such a damned impertinence I So J quick^ my - gray beard, out of gate And in at Ghetto I Haste you hence I ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL. 153 As lo7ig as I have house and land^ To spite you irreligious chaps Here shall the Crucifixion sta7id — Unless you down with cash, perhaps I ' 35- " So snickered he and Buti both. The Jews said nothing, interchanged A glance or two, renewed their oath To keep ears stopped and hearts estranged From grace, for all our Church can do ; Then off they scuttle : sullen jog Homewards, against our Church to brew Fresh mischief in their synagogue. " But next day — see what happened, boy ! See why I bid you have a care How you pelt Jews ! The knaves employ Such methods of revenge, forbear 154 FILIPPO BALDINUCCI No outrage on our -faith, when free To wreak their malice ! Here they took So base a method — plague o' me If I record it in my Book ! 37- *' For, next day, while the Farmer sat Laughing, with Buti in his shop. At their successful joke, — rat-tat, — Door opens, and they're like to drop Down to the floor as in there stalks A six-feet-high herculean-built Young he-Jew with a beard that balks Description. ' Help ere blood be spilt ! ' 38. — " Screamed Buti : for he recognized Whom but the son, no less no more, Of that High Priest his work surprised So pleasantly the day before ! ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL, 155 Son of the mother, then, whereof The bier he lent a shoulder to. And made the moans about, dared scoff At sober Christian grief — the Jew! 39- " * Sirs^ I salute you I Never rise I No apprehension ! ' (Buti, white And trembling like a tub of size, Had tried to smuggle out of sight The picture's self — the thing in oils, You know, from which a fresco's dashed Which courage speeds while caution spoils) * Stay and be praised, sir, unabashed I 40. " * Praised, — ay, and paid too : for I come To buy that very work of yours. My poor abode, which boasts — well, some Few spcci7nens of Art, secures 156 FILIPPO BALDINUCCI Haply^ a masterpiece iiideed If I should find my humble mea^is Suffice the outlay. So, proceed I Propose — ere prudence intervenes /* 41. " On Buti, cowering like a child, These words descended from aloft, In tones so ominously mild, With smile terrifically soft To that degree — could Buti dare (Poor fellow) use his brains, think twice? He asked, thus taken unaware, No more than just the proper price ! 42. " * Done ! ' cries the monster. ' / disburse Forthwith your moderate demand. Count 071 my custom — if no worse Your future work be, understand, ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL. 157 Than this I carry off! No aid I My arm, sir, lacks nor bone nor thews : The burden's easy, and we're made, Easy or hard, to bear — we yews I * 43- "Crossing himself at such escape, Buti by turns the money eyes And, timidly, the stalwart shape Now moving doorwards ; but, more wise, The Farmer, — who, though dumb, this while Had watched advantage, — straight conceived A reason for that tone and smile So mild and soft ! The Jew — believed ! 44. " Mary in triumph borne to deck A Hebrew household ! Pictured where No one was used to bend the neck In praise or bow the knee in prayer ! 158 FILIPPO BALDINUCCr Borne to that domicile by whom ? The son of the High Priest ! Through what ? An insult done his mother's tomb ! Saul changed to Paul — the case came pat ! 45- " ^Stay^ dog- yew . . gentle sir, that is / Resolve me I Can it be, she crowns, — Mary, by miracle, — Oh bliss I — My present to your burial-grou7id ? Certain, a ray of light has burst Your veil of darkness I Had you else. Only for Marfs sake, disbursed So much hard money '^ Tell — oh, telPs !^ 46. " Round — like a serpent that we took For worm and trod on — turns his bulk About the Jew. First dreadful look Sends Buti in a trice to skulk ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL, 159 Out of sight somewhere, save — alack ! But our good Farmer faith made bold : And firm (with Florence at his back) He stood, while gruff the gutturals rolled — 47- " * Ay^ sir^ a miracle was worked By quite another power ^ I trow^ Than ever yet in canvas lurked^ Or you would scarcely face me now I A certain impulse did suggest A certain grasp with this right-hand, Which probably had put to rest Our quarrel, — thus your throat o?ice spanned I * 48. " * But I remembered me, subdued That impulse, and you face me still! And soon a philosophic mood Succeeding (hear it, if you will!) l6o FILIPPO BALDINUCCI Has altogether changed my views Concerning Art. Blind prejudice! Well may you Christians tax us Jews With scrupulosity too nice ! 49- " * For^ don^t I see, — lefs issue join I — Whenever Fm allowed pollute (I — and my little hag of coin) Some Christian palace of repute, — Don^t I see stuck up everywhere Abundant proof that cultured taste Has Beauty for its only care, A?id upon Truth no thought to waste ? 50- " ' " Jew, since it must be, take in pledge Of payment " — so a Cardinal Has sighed to me as if a wedge Entered his heart " this best of all ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL, i6i My treasures ! " Leda, Ganymede Or Antiope : . swan, eagle, ape, {Or whafs the beast of whafs the breed) And jfupiter in every shape I 51- " * Whereat if I presume to ask, "But, Eminence, though Titian's whisk Of brush have well performed its task, How comes it these false godships frisk In presence of — what yonder frame Pretends to image ? Surely, odd It seems, you let confront The Name Each beast the heathen called his god I " 52. " ' Benignant smiles me pity straight The Cardinal. " 'Tis Truth, we prize! Art's the sole question in debate 1 These subjects are so many lies. l62 FILIPFO BALDINUCCI We treat them with a proper scorn When we turn lies — called gods forsooth ■ To lies' fit use, now Christ is born. Drawing and coloring are Truth. 53- "^ "Think you I honor lies so much As scruple to parade the charms Of Leda — Titian, every touch — Because the thing within her arms Means Jupiter who had the praise And prayer of a benighted world ? He would have mine too, if, in days Of light, I kept the canvas furled ! " 54. " * So ending^ with some easy gibe. What power has logic! /, at once, Acknowledged error in our tribe So squeamish that, when friends ensconce ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL, 163 A pretty picture in its niche To do us honor, deck our graves, We fret and fume and have an itch To strangle folk — ungrateful knaves I 55- " * No, sir I Be sure that — whafs its style, Your picture ? — shall possess ungrudged A place amoftg my rank and file ' Of Ledas and what not — be judged jfust as a picture ! and {because I fear me much I scarce have bought A Titian) Master Buti's flaws Found there, will have the laugh flaws ought T 56. " So, with a scowl, it darkens door — This bulk — no longer! Buti makes Prompt glad re-entry ; there's a score Of oaths, as the good Farmer wakes 164 FILIPPO BALDINUCCI From what must needs have been a trance, Or he had struck (he swears) to ground The bold bad mouth that dared advance Such doctrine the reverse of sound ! 57. " Was magic here ? Most like ! For, since^ Somehow our city's faith grows still More and more lukewarm, and our Prince Or loses heart or wants the will To check increase of cold. 'Tis ^ Live And let live I Languidly repress The Dissident ! Ln short — contrive Christians must bear with Jews : no less P S8. " The end seems, any Israelite Wants any picture, — pishes, poohs, Purchases, hangs it full in sight In any chamber he may choose ! ON THE PRIVILEGE OF BURIAL. 165 In Christ^s crown, one more thorn we rue ! In Mary's bosom, one more sword ! No, boy, you must not pelt a Jew ! O Lord, how long ? How long, O Lord ? " t66 EPILOGUE. EPILOGUE. (learol . . . ol 6* afi(f>op7^g olvov fieXavog avdoGfiiov, " The poets pour us wine — " Said the dearest poet I ever knew, Dearest and greatest and best to me. You clamor athirst for poetry — We pour. " But when shall a vintage be '' — You cry — " strong grape, squeezed gold from screw. Yet sweet juice, flavored flowery-fine ? That were indeed the wine!" 2. One pours your cup — stark strength. Meat for a man ; and you eye the pulp Strained, turbid still, from the viscous blood Of the snaky bough : and you grumble " Good ! EPILOGUE. 167 For it swells resolve, breeds hardihood ; Despatch it, then, in a single gulp ! " So, down, with a wry face, goes at length The liquor : stuff for strength. 3- One pours your cup — sheer sweet, The fragrant fumes of a year condensed: Suspicion of all that's ripe or rathe, From the bud on branch to the grass in swathe. "We suck mere milk of the seasons," saith A curl of each nostril — "dew, dispensed Nowise for ner\dng man to feat: Boys sip such honeyed sweet ! " 4. And thus who wants wine strong, Waves each sweet smell of the year away; Who likes to swoon as the sweets suffuse * His brain with a mixture of beams and dews i68 EPILOGUE, Turned sirupy drink — rough strength eschews : " What though in our veins your wine-stock stay ? The lack of the bloom does our palate wrong. Give us wine sweet, not strong ! " 5- Yet wine is — some affirm — Prime wine there is in the world somewhere, Of portable strength with sweet to match. You double your heart its dose, yet catch — As the draught descends — a violet-smatch. Through drops expressed by the fire and worm ; Strong sweet wine — some affirm. Body and bouquet both? 'Tis easy to ticket a bottle so ; But what was the case in the cask, my friends ? Cask ? Nay, the vat — where the maker mends EPILOGUE, 169 His strong with his sweet (you suppose) and blends His rough with his smooth, till none can know How it comes you may tipple, nothing loath, Body and bouquet both. 7- "You" being just — the world. No poets — who turn, themselves, the winch Of the press ; no critics — I'll even say, (I am flustered and easy of faith, to-day) Who for love of the work have learned the way Till themselves produce home-made, at a pinch : No ! You are the world, and wine ne'er purled Except to please the world ! 8. " For, oh the common heart ! And, ah the irremissible sin Of poets who please themselves, not us ! Strong wine yet sweet wine pouring thus, 170 . EPILOGUE, How please still — Pindar and ^schylus ! — Drink — dipt into by the bearded chin Alike and the bloomy lip — no part Denied the common heart ! 9- "And might we get such grace, And did you moderns but stock our vault With the true half-brandy half-attar-gul, How would seniors indulge at a hearty pull While juniors tossed off their thimbleful ! Our Shakespeare and Milton escaped your fault, So, they reign supreme o'er the weaker race That want the ancient grace ! " lO. If I paid myself with words (As the French say well) I were dupe indeed ! I were found in belief that you quaffed and bowsed At your Shakespeare the whole day long, caroused EPILOGUE, 171 In your Milton pottle-deep nor drowsed A moment of night — toped on, took heed Of nothing like modern cream-and-curds 1 Pay me with deeds, not words ! For — see your cellarage! There are forty barrels with Shakespeare's brand. Some five or six are abroach : the rest Stand spigoted, fauceted. Try and test What yourselves call best of the very best! Why is it that still untouched they stand ? Why don't you try tap, advance a stage With the rest in cellarage ? 12. For — see your cellarage ! There are four big butts of Milton's brew. How comes it you make old drips and drops Do duty, and there devotion stops? 172 EPILOGUE, Leave such an abyss of malt and hops Embellied in butts which bungs still glue ? You hate your bard ! A fig for your rage ! Free him from cellarage ! 13. 'Tis said I brew stiff drink, But the deuce a flavor of grape is there. Hardly a May-go-down, 'tis just A sort of a gruff Go-down-it-must — No Merry-go-down, no gracious gust Commingles the racy with May, the rare ! "What wonder," say you "we cough, and blink October's heady drink?" 14. Is it a fancy, friepds? Mighty and mellow are never mixed. Though mighty and mellow be born at once. Sweet for the future, — strong for the nonce I EPILOGUE. 173 Stuff you should stow away, ensconce In the deep and dark, to be found fast-fixed At the century's close : such time strength spends A-sweetening for my friends ! IS- And then — why, what you quaff With a smack of lip and a cluck of tongue, Is leakage and leavings — just what haps From the tun some learned taster taps With a promise " Prepare your watery chaps ! Here's properest wine for old and young ! Dispute its perfection — you make us laugh ! Have faith, give thanks, but — quaff ! " 16. Leakage, I say, or worse. Leavings suffice pot-valiant souls. Somebody, brimful, long ago, Frothed flagon he drained to the dregs ; and lo, 174 EPILOGUE. Down whisker and beard what an overflow ! Lick spilth that has trickled from classic jowls. Sup the single scene, sip the only verse — Old wine, not new and worse ! 17- I grant you : worse by much ! Renounce that new where you never gained One glow at heart, one gleam at head, And stick to the warrant of age instead ! No dwarfs-lap ! Fatten, by giants fed ! You fatten, with oceans of drink undrained? You feed — who would choke did a cobweb smutch The Age you love so much ? i8. A mine's beneath a moor: Acres of moor roof fathoms of mine Which diamonds dot where you please to dig : Yet who plies spade for the bright and big ? EPILOGUE, 175 Your product is — truffles, you hunt with a pig ! Since bright-and-big, when a man would dine, Suite badly: and therefore the Koh-i-noor May sleep in mine 'neath moor! 19. Wine, pulse in might from me ! It may never emerge in must from vat, Never fill cask nor furnish can, Never end sweet, which strong began — God's gift to gladden the heart of man j But spirit's at proof, I promise that ! No sparing of juice spoils what should be Fit brewage — mine for me. 20. Man's thoughts and loves and hates ! Earth is my vineyard, these grew there : From grape of the ground, I made or marred My vintage ; easy the task or hard, 176 EPILOGUE. Who set it — his praise be my reward ! Earth's yield ! Who yearn for the Dark Blue Sea's Let them "lay, pray, bray" — the addle-pates. Mine be Man's thoughts, loves, hates ! 21. But some one says " Good Sir ! " ('Tis a worthy versed in what concerns The making such labor turn out well) "You don't suppose that the nosegay-smell Needs always come from the grape ? Each bell At your foot, each bud that your Honor spurns, The very cowslip would act like myrrh On the stiffest brew — good Sir ! 22. " Cowslips, abundant birth O'er meadow and hillside, vineyard too, — Like a schoolboy's scrawlings in and out Distasteful lesson-book — all about EPILOGUE, 177 Greece and Rome, victory and rout — Love-verses instead of such vain ado I So, fancies frolic it o'er the earth Where thoughts have rightlier birth. 23. " Nay, thoughtlings they themselves : Loves, hates — in little and less and least! Thoughts? * What is a man beside a mount I ^ Loves ? * Absent — poor lovers the minutes count / * Hates? ^Fie — Pope's letters to Martha Blount T These furnish a wine for a children's-feast : Insipid to man, they suit the elves Like thoughts, loves, hates themselves." 24. And, friends, beyond dispute I too have the cowslips dewy and dear. Punctual as Springtide forth peep they : I leave them to make my meadow gay. 178 EPILOGUE, But I ought to pluck and impound them, eh ? Not let them alone, but deftly shear And shred and reduce to — what may suit Children, beyond dispute? 25 And, here's May-month, all bloom, All bounty : what if I sacrifice ? If I out with shears and shear, nor stop Shearing till prostrate, lo, the crop ? And will you prefer it to ginger-pop When I Ve made you wine of the memories Which leave as bare as a churchyard tomb My meadow, late all bloom ? 26. Nay, what ingratitude Should I hesitate to amuse the wits That have pulled so long at my flask, nor grudged The headache that paid their pains, nor budged EPILOGUE, 179 From bunghole before they sighed and judged " Too rough for our taste, to-day, befits The racy and right when the years conclude ! " Out on ingratitude ! 27. Grateful or ingrate — none, No cowslip of all my fairy crew Shall help to concoct what makes you wink, And goes to your head till you think you think I like them alive : the printer's ink Would sensibly tell on the perfume too. I may use up my nettles, ere IVe done ; But of cowslips — friends get none! 28. Don't nettles make a broth Wholesome for blood grown lazy and thick ? Maws out of sorts make mouths out of taste. My Thirty-four Port — no need to waste i8o EPILOGUE. On a tongue that's fur and a palate — paste ! A magnum for friends who are sound ! the sick- I'U posset and cosset them, nothing loath, Henceforward with nettle-broth! 396725 H'/^.hi.. tiUC UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY