“Importunately will suggestion prick—
“What, had Pompilia gained the right to boast
“‘No devious path, no doubtful patch was mine,
“‘I saved my head nor sacrificed my foot?’
“Why, being in a peril, show mistrust
“Of the angels set to guard the innocent? (960)
“Why rather hold by obvious vulgar help
“Of stratagem and subterfuge, excused
“Somewhat, but still no less a foil, a fault,
“Since low with high, and good with bad is linked?
“Methinks I view some ancient bas-relief.
“There stands Hesione thrust out by Troy,
“Her father’s hand has chained her to a crag,
“Her mother’s from the virgin plucked the vest,
“At a safe distance both distressful watch,
“While near and nearer comes the snorting orc. (970)
“I look that, white and perfect to the end,
“She wait till Jove despatch some demigod;
“Not that,—impatient of celestial club
“Alcmena’s son should brandish at the beast,—
“She daub, disguise her dainty limbs with pitch,
“And so elude the purblind monster! Ay,
“The trick succeeds, but ’tis an ugly trick,
“Where needs have been no trick!”
Nimis incongrue! Too absurdly put! (980)
Sententiam ego teneo contrariam,
Trick, I maintain, had no alternative.
The heavens were bound with brass,—Jove far at feast
(No feast like that thou didst not ask me to,
Arcangeli,—I heard of thy regale!)
With the unblamed Æthiop,—Hercules spun wool
I’ the lap of Omphale, while Virtue shrieked—
The brute came paddling all the faster. You
Of Troy, who stood at distance, where’s the aid
You offered in the extremity? Most and least, (990)
Gentle and simple, here the Governor,
There the Archbishop, everywhere the friends,
Shook heads and waited for a miracle,
Or went their way, left Virtue to her fate.
Just this one rough and ready man leapt forth!
—Was found, sole anti-Fabius (dare I say)
To restore things, with no delay at all,
Qui, haud cunctando, rem restituit! He,
He only, Caponsacchi ’mid a crowd,
Caught Virtue up, carried Pompilia off (1000)
Thro’ the gaping impotence of sympathy
In ranged Arezzo: what you take for pitch,
Is nothing worse, belike, than black and blue,
Mere evanescent proof that hardy hands
Did yeoman’s service, cared not where the gripe
Was more than duly energetic: bruised,
She smarts a little, but her bones are saved
A fracture, and her skin will soon show sleek.
How it disgusts when weakness, false-refined,
Censures the honest rude effective strength,— (1010)
When sickly dreamers of the impossible
Decry plain sturdiness which does the feat
With eyes wide open!
I could illustrate, if my lords allow;
Quid vetat, what forbids, I aptly ask
With Horace, that I give my anger vent,
While I let breathe, no less, and recreate
The gravity of my Judges, by a tale—
A case in point—what though an apologue (1020)
Graced by tradition,—possibly a fact?
Tradition must precede all scripture, words
Serve as our warrant ere our books can be:
So, to tradition back we needs must go
For any fact’s authority: and this
Hath lived so far (like jewel hid in muck)
O’ the page of that old lying vanity
Called “Sepher Toldoth Yeschu:” God be praised,
I read no Hebrew,—take the thing on trust:
But I believe the writer meant no good (1030)
(Blind as he was to truth in some respects)
To our pestiferous and schismatic…well,
My lords’ conjecture be the touchstone, show
The thing for what it is! The author lacks
Discretion, and his zeal exceeds: but zeal,—
How rare in our degenerate day! Enough!
Here is the story,—fear not, I shall chop
And change a little, else my Jew would press
All too unmannerly before the Court.
Pretending to write Christian history,—
That three, held greatest, best and worst of men,
Peter and John and Judas, spent a day
In toil and travel through the country-side
On some sufficient business—I suspect,
Suppression of some Molinism i’ the bud.
Foot- sore and hungry, dropping with fatigue,
They reached by nightfall a poor lonely grange,
Hostel or inn: so, knocked and entered there.
“Your pleasure, great ones?”—“Shelter, rest and food!”
For shelter, there was one bare room above; (1051)
For rest therein, three beds of bundled straw:
For food, one wretched starveling fowl, no more—
Meat for one mouth, but mockery for three.
“You have my utmost.” How should supper serve?
Peter broke silence. “To the spit with fowl!
“And while ’tis cooking, sleep!—since beds there be,
“And, so far, satisfaction of a want.
“Sleep we an hour, awake at supper-time,
“Then each of us narrate the dream he had, (1060)
“And he whose dream shall prove the happiest, point
“The clearliest out the dreamer as ordained
“Beyond his fellows to receive the fowl,
“Him let our shares be cheerful tribute to,
“His the entire meal, may it do him good!”
Who could dispute so plain a consequence?
So said, so done: each hurried to his straw,
Slept his hour’s-sleep and dreamed his dream, and woke.
“I,” commenced John, “dreamed that I gained the prize
“We all aspire to: the proud place was mine, (1070)
“Throughout the earth and to
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