There! See our roof, its gilt moulding and groining Under those spider-webs lying! 20, So your fugue broadens and thickens, Till one exclaims 66 But where's music, the dickens? Blot ye the gold, while your spider-web strengthens, Blacked to the stoutest of tickens?" 21. I for man's effort am zealous. Prove me such censure's unfounded! Seems it surprising a lover grows jealous- Is it your moral of Life? 22. Such a web, simple and subtle, Weave we on earth here in impotent strife, Backward and forward each throwing his shuttle, Death ending all with a knife? 23. Over our heads Truth and Nature Still our life's zigzags and dodges, Ins and outs weaving a new legislature God's gold just shining its last where that lodges, Palled beneath Man's usurpature! 24. So we o'ershroud stars and roses, Cherub and trophy and garland. Nothings grow something which quietly closes 25. Ah, but traditions, inventions, (Say we and make up a visage) So many men with such various intentions Down the past ages must know more than this age! Leave the web all its dimensions! 26. Who thinks Hugues wrote for the deaf? Better submit- try again what's the clef? 'Faith, it's no trifle for pipe and for tabor Four flats- the minor in F. 27. Friend, your fugue taxes the finger. Truth's golden o'er us although we refuse it Nature, thro' dust-clouds we fling her! 28. Hugues! I advise meâ pœnâ (Counterpoint glares like a Gorgon) Bid One, Two, Three, Four, Five, clear the arena! Say the word, straight I unstop the Full-Organ, Blare out the mode Palestrina. 29. While in the roof, if I'm right there ... Lo, you, the wick in the socket! Hallo, you sacristan, show us a light there! Down it dips, gone like a rocket! What, you want, do you, to come unawares, Sweeping the church up for first morning-prayers, And find a poor devil at end of his cares At the foot of your rotten-planked rat-riddled stairs? Do I carry the moon in my pocket? 10 BISHOP BLOUGRAM'S APOLOGY. No more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk. A final glass for me, tho': cool, i'faith! We ought to have our Abbey back, you see. It's different, preaching in basilicas, And doing duty in some masterpiece Like this of brother Pugin's, bless his heart! I doubt if they're half baked, those chalk rosettes, amply pay it! Now, we'll talk. So, you despise me, Mr. Gigadibs. No deprecation,- nay, I beg you, sir! Beside 'tis our engagement: don't you know, We'd see truth dawn together? - truth that peeps Over the glass's edge when dinner 's done, And leaves soul free a little. Now's the time And if I say, -Are up to the protesting eyes of you In pride at being seated here for once → When somebody, through years and years to come, “Dined with him once, a Corpus Christi Day, All alone, we two - he's a clever man — And after dinner, why, the wine you know,- what with the wine... 'Faith, we began upon all sorts of talk! He's no bad fellow, Blougram - he had seen Something of mine he relished some review He's quite above their humbug in his heart, Half-said as much, indeed the thing's his trade |