Now, Sir, tale is told,Of how the old couple come to lie in stateThough hacked to pieces,—never, the expert say,So thorough a study of stabbing—while the wife(Viper-like, very difficult to slay)Writhes still through every ring of her, poor wretch,At the Hospital hard by—survives, we'll hope,To somewhat purify her putrid soulBy full confession, make so much amendsWhile time lasts; since at day's end die she must.For Caponsacchi,—why, they'll have him here,As hero of the adventure, who so fitTo figure in the coming Carnival?'Twill make the fortune of whate'er saloonHears him recount, with helpful cheek, and eyeHotly indignant now, now dewy-dimmed,The incidents of flight, pursuit, surprise,Capture, with hints of kisses all between—While Guido, wholly unromantic spouse,No longer fit to laugh at since the bloodGave the broad farce an all too brutal air,Why, he and those four luckless friends of hisMay tumble in the straw this bitter day—Laid by the heels i' the New Prison, I hear,To bide their trial, since trial, and for the life,Follows if but for form's sake: yes, indeed!But with a certain issue: no dispute,"Try him," bids law: formalities oblige:But as to the issue,—look me in the face!—If the law thinks to find them guilty, Sir,Master or men—touch one hair of the five,Then I say in the name of all that's leftOf honor in Rome, civility i' the worldWhereof Rome boasts herself the central source,—There's an end to all hope of justice more.Astræa's gone indeed, let hope go too!Who is it dares impugn the natural law,Deny God's word "the faithless wife shall die"?What, are we blind? How can we fail to learnThis crowd of miseries make the man a mark,Accumulate on one devoted headFor our example?—yours and mine who readIts lesson thus—"Henceforward let none dareStand, like a natural in the public way,Letting the very urchins twitch his beardAnd tweak his nose, to earn a nickname so,Be styled male-Grissel or else modern Job!"Had Guido, in the twinkling of an eye,Summed up the reckoning, promptly paid himself,That morning when he came up with the pairAt the wayside inn,—exacted his just debtBy aid of what first mattock, pitchfork, axeCame to hand in the helpful stable-yard,And with that axe, if providence so pleased,Cloven each head, by some Rolando-stroke,In one clean cut from crown to clavicle,—Slain the priest-gallant, the wife-paramour,Sticking, for all defence, in each skull's cleftThe rhyme and reason of the stroke thus dealt,To wit, those letters and last evidenceOf shame, each package in its proper place,—Bidding, who pitied, undistend the skulls,—I say, the world had praised the man. But no!That were too plain, too straight, too simply just!He hesitates, calls law forsooth to help.And law, distasteful to who calls in lawWhen honor is beforehand and would serve,What wonder if law hesitate in turn,Plead her disuse to calls o' the kind, reply(Smiling a little), "'Tis yourself assessThe worth of what's lost, sum of damage done.What you touched with so light a finger-tip,You whose concern it was to grasp the thing,Why must law gird herself and grapple with?Law, alien to the actor whose warm bloodAsks heat from law whose veins run lukewarm milk,—What you dealt lightly with, shall law make outHeinous forsooth?"Sir, what's the good of lawIn a case o' the kind? None, as she all but says.Call in law when a neighbor breaks your fence,Cribs from your field, tampers with rent or lease,Touches the purse or pocket,—but wooes your wife?No: take the old way trod when men were men!Guido preferred the new path,—for his pains,Stuck in a quagmire, floundered worse and worseUntil he managed somehow scramble backInto the safe sure rutted road once more,Revenged his own wrong like a gentleman.Once back 'mid the familiar prints, no doubtHe made too rash amends for his first fault,Vaulted too loftily over what barred him late,And lit i' the mire again,—the common chance,The natural over-energy: the deedMaladroit yields three deaths instead of one,And one life left: for where's the Canon's corpse?All which is the worse for Guido, but, be frank—The better for you and me and all the world,Husbands of wives, especially in Rome.The thing is put right, in the old place,—ay,The rod hangs on its nail behind the door,Fresh from the brine: a matter I commendTo the notice, during Carnival that's near,Of a certain what's-his-name and jackanapesSomewhat too civil of eves with lute and songAbout a house here, where I keep a wife.(You, being his cousin, may go tell him so.)
Now, Sir, tale is told,Of how the old couple come to lie in stateThough hacked to pieces,—never, the expert say,So thorough a study of stabbing—while the wife(Viper-like, very difficult to slay)Writhes still through every ring of her, poor wretch,At the Hospital hard by—survives, we'll hope,To somewhat purify her putrid soulBy full confession, make so much amendsWhile time lasts; since at day's end die she must.For Caponsacchi,—why, they'll have him here,As hero of the adventure, who so fitTo figure in the coming Carnival?'Twill make the fortune of whate'er saloonHears him recount, with helpful cheek, and eyeHotly indignant now, now dewy-dimmed,The incidents of flight, pursuit, surprise,Capture, with hints of kisses all between—While Guido, wholly unromantic spouse,No longer fit to laugh at since the bloodGave the broad farce an all too brutal air,Why, he and those four luckless friends of hisMay tumble in the straw this bitter day—Laid by the heels i' the New Prison, I hear,To bide their trial, since trial, and for the life,Follows if but for form's sake: yes, indeed!But with a certain issue: no dispute,"Try him," bids law: formalities oblige:But as to the issue,—look me in the face!—If the law thinks to find them guilty, Sir,Master or men—touch one hair of the five,Then I say in the name of all that's leftOf honor in Rome, civility i' the worldWhereof Rome boasts herself the central source,—There's an end to all hope of justice more.Astræa's gone indeed, let hope go too!Who is it dares impugn the natural law,Deny God's word "the faithless wife shall die"?What, are we blind? How can we fail to learnThis crowd of miseries make the man a mark,Accumulate on one devoted headFor our example?—yours and mine who readIts lesson thus—"Henceforward let none dareStand, like a natural in the public way,Letting the very urchins twitch his beardAnd tweak his nose, to earn a nickname so,Be styled male-Grissel or else modern Job!"Had Guido, in the twinkling of an eye,Summed up the reckoning, promptly paid himself,That morning when he came up with the pairAt the wayside inn,—exacted his just debtBy aid of what first mattock, pitchfork, axeCame to hand in the helpful stable-yard,And with that axe, if providence so pleased,Cloven each head, by some Rolando-stroke,In one clean cut from crown to clavicle,—Slain the priest-gallant, the wife-paramour,Sticking, for all defence, in each skull's cleftThe rhyme and reason of the stroke thus dealt,To wit, those letters and last evidenceOf shame, each package in its proper place,—Bidding, who pitied, undistend the skulls,—I say, the world had praised the man. But no!That were too plain, too straight, too simply just!He hesitates, calls law forsooth to help.And law, distasteful to who calls in lawWhen honor is beforehand and would serve,What wonder if law hesitate in turn,Plead her disuse to calls o' the kind, reply(Smiling a little), "'Tis yourself assessThe worth of what's lost, sum of damage done.What you touched with so light a finger-tip,You whose concern it was to grasp the thing,Why must law gird herself and grapple with?Law, alien to the actor whose warm bloodAsks heat from law whose veins run lukewarm milk,—What you dealt lightly with, shall law make outHeinous forsooth?"Sir, what's the good of lawIn a case o' the kind? None, as she all but says.Call in law when a neighbor breaks your fence,Cribs from your field, tampers with rent or lease,Touches the purse or pocket,—but wooes your wife?No: take the old way trod when men were men!Guido preferred the new path,—for his pains,Stuck in a quagmire, floundered worse and worseUntil he managed somehow scramble backInto the safe sure rutted road once more,Revenged his own wrong like a gentleman.Once back 'mid the familiar prints, no doubtHe made too rash amends for his first fault,Vaulted too loftily over what barred him late,And lit i' the mire again,—the common chance,The natural over-energy: the deedMaladroit yields three deaths instead of one,And one life left: for where's the Canon's corpse?All which is the worse for Guido, but, be frank—The better for you and me and all the world,Husbands of wives, especially in Rome.The thing is put right, in the old place,—ay,The rod hangs on its nail behind the door,Fresh from the brine: a matter I commendTo the notice, during Carnival that's near,Of a certain what's-his-name and jackanapesSomewhat too civil of eves with lute and songAbout a house here, where I keep a wife.(You, being his cousin, may go tell him so.)
Now, Sir, tale is told,Of how the old couple come to lie in stateThough hacked to pieces,—never, the expert say,So thorough a study of stabbing—while the wife(Viper-like, very difficult to slay)Writhes still through every ring of her, poor wretch,At the Hospital hard by—survives, we'll hope,To somewhat purify her putrid soulBy full confession, make so much amendsWhile time lasts; since at day's end die she must.
Now, Sir, tale is told,
Of how the old couple come to lie in state
Though hacked to pieces,—never, the expert say,
So thorough a study of stabbing—while the wife
(Viper-like, very difficult to slay)
Writhes still through every ring of her, poor wretch,
At the Hospital hard by—survives, we'll hope,
To somewhat purify her putrid soul
By full confession, make so much amends
While time lasts; since at day's end die she must.
For Caponsacchi,—why, they'll have him here,As hero of the adventure, who so fitTo figure in the coming Carnival?'Twill make the fortune of whate'er saloonHears him recount, with helpful cheek, and eyeHotly indignant now, now dewy-dimmed,The incidents of flight, pursuit, surprise,Capture, with hints of kisses all between—While Guido, wholly unromantic spouse,No longer fit to laugh at since the bloodGave the broad farce an all too brutal air,Why, he and those four luckless friends of hisMay tumble in the straw this bitter day—Laid by the heels i' the New Prison, I hear,To bide their trial, since trial, and for the life,Follows if but for form's sake: yes, indeed!
For Caponsacchi,—why, they'll have him here,
As hero of the adventure, who so fit
To figure in the coming Carnival?
'Twill make the fortune of whate'er saloon
Hears him recount, with helpful cheek, and eye
Hotly indignant now, now dewy-dimmed,
The incidents of flight, pursuit, surprise,
Capture, with hints of kisses all between—
While Guido, wholly unromantic spouse,
No longer fit to laugh at since the blood
Gave the broad farce an all too brutal air,
Why, he and those four luckless friends of his
May tumble in the straw this bitter day—
Laid by the heels i' the New Prison, I hear,
To bide their trial, since trial, and for the life,
Follows if but for form's sake: yes, indeed!
But with a certain issue: no dispute,"Try him," bids law: formalities oblige:But as to the issue,—look me in the face!—If the law thinks to find them guilty, Sir,Master or men—touch one hair of the five,Then I say in the name of all that's leftOf honor in Rome, civility i' the worldWhereof Rome boasts herself the central source,—There's an end to all hope of justice more.Astræa's gone indeed, let hope go too!Who is it dares impugn the natural law,Deny God's word "the faithless wife shall die"?What, are we blind? How can we fail to learnThis crowd of miseries make the man a mark,Accumulate on one devoted headFor our example?—yours and mine who readIts lesson thus—"Henceforward let none dareStand, like a natural in the public way,Letting the very urchins twitch his beardAnd tweak his nose, to earn a nickname so,Be styled male-Grissel or else modern Job!"Had Guido, in the twinkling of an eye,Summed up the reckoning, promptly paid himself,That morning when he came up with the pairAt the wayside inn,—exacted his just debtBy aid of what first mattock, pitchfork, axeCame to hand in the helpful stable-yard,And with that axe, if providence so pleased,Cloven each head, by some Rolando-stroke,In one clean cut from crown to clavicle,—Slain the priest-gallant, the wife-paramour,Sticking, for all defence, in each skull's cleftThe rhyme and reason of the stroke thus dealt,To wit, those letters and last evidenceOf shame, each package in its proper place,—Bidding, who pitied, undistend the skulls,—I say, the world had praised the man. But no!That were too plain, too straight, too simply just!He hesitates, calls law forsooth to help.And law, distasteful to who calls in lawWhen honor is beforehand and would serve,What wonder if law hesitate in turn,Plead her disuse to calls o' the kind, reply(Smiling a little), "'Tis yourself assessThe worth of what's lost, sum of damage done.What you touched with so light a finger-tip,You whose concern it was to grasp the thing,Why must law gird herself and grapple with?Law, alien to the actor whose warm bloodAsks heat from law whose veins run lukewarm milk,—What you dealt lightly with, shall law make outHeinous forsooth?"Sir, what's the good of lawIn a case o' the kind? None, as she all but says.Call in law when a neighbor breaks your fence,Cribs from your field, tampers with rent or lease,Touches the purse or pocket,—but wooes your wife?No: take the old way trod when men were men!Guido preferred the new path,—for his pains,Stuck in a quagmire, floundered worse and worseUntil he managed somehow scramble backInto the safe sure rutted road once more,Revenged his own wrong like a gentleman.Once back 'mid the familiar prints, no doubtHe made too rash amends for his first fault,Vaulted too loftily over what barred him late,And lit i' the mire again,—the common chance,The natural over-energy: the deedMaladroit yields three deaths instead of one,And one life left: for where's the Canon's corpse?All which is the worse for Guido, but, be frank—The better for you and me and all the world,Husbands of wives, especially in Rome.The thing is put right, in the old place,—ay,The rod hangs on its nail behind the door,Fresh from the brine: a matter I commendTo the notice, during Carnival that's near,Of a certain what's-his-name and jackanapesSomewhat too civil of eves with lute and songAbout a house here, where I keep a wife.(You, being his cousin, may go tell him so.)
But with a certain issue: no dispute,
"Try him," bids law: formalities oblige:
But as to the issue,—look me in the face!—
If the law thinks to find them guilty, Sir,
Master or men—touch one hair of the five,
Then I say in the name of all that's left
Of honor in Rome, civility i' the world
Whereof Rome boasts herself the central source,—
There's an end to all hope of justice more.
Astræa's gone indeed, let hope go too!
Who is it dares impugn the natural law,
Deny God's word "the faithless wife shall die"?
What, are we blind? How can we fail to learn
This crowd of miseries make the man a mark,
Accumulate on one devoted head
For our example?—yours and mine who read
Its lesson thus—"Henceforward let none dare
Stand, like a natural in the public way,
Letting the very urchins twitch his beard
And tweak his nose, to earn a nickname so,
Be styled male-Grissel or else modern Job!"
Had Guido, in the twinkling of an eye,
Summed up the reckoning, promptly paid himself,
That morning when he came up with the pair
At the wayside inn,—exacted his just debt
By aid of what first mattock, pitchfork, axe
Came to hand in the helpful stable-yard,
And with that axe, if providence so pleased,
Cloven each head, by some Rolando-stroke,
In one clean cut from crown to clavicle,
—Slain the priest-gallant, the wife-paramour,
Sticking, for all defence, in each skull's cleft
The rhyme and reason of the stroke thus dealt,
To wit, those letters and last evidence
Of shame, each package in its proper place,—
Bidding, who pitied, undistend the skulls,—
I say, the world had praised the man. But no!
That were too plain, too straight, too simply just!
He hesitates, calls law forsooth to help.
And law, distasteful to who calls in law
When honor is beforehand and would serve,
What wonder if law hesitate in turn,
Plead her disuse to calls o' the kind, reply
(Smiling a little), "'Tis yourself assess
The worth of what's lost, sum of damage done.
What you touched with so light a finger-tip,
You whose concern it was to grasp the thing,
Why must law gird herself and grapple with?
Law, alien to the actor whose warm blood
Asks heat from law whose veins run lukewarm milk,—
What you dealt lightly with, shall law make out
Heinous forsooth?"
Sir, what's the good of law
In a case o' the kind? None, as she all but says.
Call in law when a neighbor breaks your fence,
Cribs from your field, tampers with rent or lease,
Touches the purse or pocket,—but wooes your wife?
No: take the old way trod when men were men!
Guido preferred the new path,—for his pains,
Stuck in a quagmire, floundered worse and worse
Until he managed somehow scramble back
Into the safe sure rutted road once more,
Revenged his own wrong like a gentleman.
Once back 'mid the familiar prints, no doubt
He made too rash amends for his first fault,
Vaulted too loftily over what barred him late,
And lit i' the mire again,—the common chance,
The natural over-energy: the deed
Maladroit yields three deaths instead of one,
And one life left: for where's the Canon's corpse?
All which is the worse for Guido, but, be frank—
The better for you and me and all the world,
Husbands of wives, especially in Rome.
The thing is put right, in the old place,—ay,
The rod hangs on its nail behind the door,
Fresh from the brine: a matter I commend
To the notice, during Carnival that's near,
Of a certain what's-his-name and jackanapes
Somewhat too civil of eves with lute and song
About a house here, where I keep a wife.
(You, being his cousin, may go tell him so.)