Solvuntur tabulæ?May we laugh and go?Well,—not before (in filial gratitudeTo Law, who, mighty mother, waves adieu)We take on us to vindicate Law's self!For,—yea, Sirs,—curb the start, curtail the stare!—Remains that we apologize for hasteI' the Law, our lady who here bristles up,"Blame my procedure? Could the Court mistake?(Which were indeed a misery to think);Did not my sentence in the former stageO' the business bear a title plain enough?Decretum"—I translate it word for word—"'Decreed: the priest, for his complicityI' the flight and deviation of the dame,As well as for unlawful intercourse,Is banished three years:' crime and penaltyDeclared alike. If he be taxed with guilt,How can you call Pompilia innocent?If both be innocent, have I been just?"Gently, O mother, judge men—whose mistakeIs in the mere misapprehensiveness!TheTitulusa-top of your decreeWas but to ticket there the kind of chargeYou in good time would arbitrate upon.Title is one thing,—arbitration's self,Probatio, quite another possibly.Subsistit;there holds good the old response,Responsio tradita, we must not stick,Quod non sit attendendus Titulus,To the Title,sed Probatio, but the Proof,Resultans ex processu, the resultO' the Trial, and the style of punishment,Et pœna per sententiam imposita.All is tentative, till the sentence come:An indication of what men expect,But nowise an assurance they shall find.Lords, what if we permissibly relaxThe tense bow, as the law-god Phœbus bids,Relieve our gravity at labor's close?I traverse Rome, feel thirsty, need a draught,Look for a wine-shop, find it by the boughProjecting as to say "Here wine is sold!"So much I know,—"sold:" but what sort of wine?Strong, weak, sweet, sour, home-made or foreign drink?That much must I discover by myself."Wine is sold," quoth the bough, "but good or bad,Find, and inform us when you smack your lips!"Exactly so, Law hangs her title forth,To show she entertains you with such caseAbout such crime. Come in! she pours, you quaff.You find the Priest good liquor in the main,But heady and provocative of brawls:Remand the residue to flask once more,Lay it low where it may deposit lees,I' the cellar: thence produce it presently,Three years the brighter and the better!Thus,Law's son, have I bestowed my filial help,And thus I end,tenax proposito;Point to point as I purposed have I drawnPompilia, and implied as terriblyGuido: so, gazing, let the world crown Law—Able once more, despite my impotence,And helped by the acumen of the Court,To eliminate, display, make triumph truth!What other prize than truth were worth the pains?There 's my oration—much exceeds in lengthThat famed panegyric of Isocrates,They say it took him fifteen years to pen.But all those ancients could say anything!He put in just what rushed into his head:While I shall have to prune and pare and print.This comes of being born in modern timesWith priests for auditory. Still, it pays.
Solvuntur tabulæ?May we laugh and go?Well,—not before (in filial gratitudeTo Law, who, mighty mother, waves adieu)We take on us to vindicate Law's self!For,—yea, Sirs,—curb the start, curtail the stare!—Remains that we apologize for hasteI' the Law, our lady who here bristles up,"Blame my procedure? Could the Court mistake?(Which were indeed a misery to think);Did not my sentence in the former stageO' the business bear a title plain enough?Decretum"—I translate it word for word—"'Decreed: the priest, for his complicityI' the flight and deviation of the dame,As well as for unlawful intercourse,Is banished three years:' crime and penaltyDeclared alike. If he be taxed with guilt,How can you call Pompilia innocent?If both be innocent, have I been just?"Gently, O mother, judge men—whose mistakeIs in the mere misapprehensiveness!TheTitulusa-top of your decreeWas but to ticket there the kind of chargeYou in good time would arbitrate upon.Title is one thing,—arbitration's self,Probatio, quite another possibly.Subsistit;there holds good the old response,Responsio tradita, we must not stick,Quod non sit attendendus Titulus,To the Title,sed Probatio, but the Proof,Resultans ex processu, the resultO' the Trial, and the style of punishment,Et pœna per sententiam imposita.All is tentative, till the sentence come:An indication of what men expect,But nowise an assurance they shall find.Lords, what if we permissibly relaxThe tense bow, as the law-god Phœbus bids,Relieve our gravity at labor's close?I traverse Rome, feel thirsty, need a draught,Look for a wine-shop, find it by the boughProjecting as to say "Here wine is sold!"So much I know,—"sold:" but what sort of wine?Strong, weak, sweet, sour, home-made or foreign drink?That much must I discover by myself."Wine is sold," quoth the bough, "but good or bad,Find, and inform us when you smack your lips!"Exactly so, Law hangs her title forth,To show she entertains you with such caseAbout such crime. Come in! she pours, you quaff.You find the Priest good liquor in the main,But heady and provocative of brawls:Remand the residue to flask once more,Lay it low where it may deposit lees,I' the cellar: thence produce it presently,Three years the brighter and the better!Thus,Law's son, have I bestowed my filial help,And thus I end,tenax proposito;Point to point as I purposed have I drawnPompilia, and implied as terriblyGuido: so, gazing, let the world crown Law—Able once more, despite my impotence,And helped by the acumen of the Court,To eliminate, display, make triumph truth!What other prize than truth were worth the pains?There 's my oration—much exceeds in lengthThat famed panegyric of Isocrates,They say it took him fifteen years to pen.But all those ancients could say anything!He put in just what rushed into his head:While I shall have to prune and pare and print.This comes of being born in modern timesWith priests for auditory. Still, it pays.
Solvuntur tabulæ?May we laugh and go?Well,—not before (in filial gratitudeTo Law, who, mighty mother, waves adieu)We take on us to vindicate Law's self!For,—yea, Sirs,—curb the start, curtail the stare!—Remains that we apologize for hasteI' the Law, our lady who here bristles up,"Blame my procedure? Could the Court mistake?(Which were indeed a misery to think);Did not my sentence in the former stageO' the business bear a title plain enough?Decretum"—I translate it word for word—"'Decreed: the priest, for his complicityI' the flight and deviation of the dame,As well as for unlawful intercourse,Is banished three years:' crime and penaltyDeclared alike. If he be taxed with guilt,How can you call Pompilia innocent?If both be innocent, have I been just?"
Solvuntur tabulæ?May we laugh and go?
Well,—not before (in filial gratitude
To Law, who, mighty mother, waves adieu)
We take on us to vindicate Law's self!
For,—yea, Sirs,—curb the start, curtail the stare!—
Remains that we apologize for haste
I' the Law, our lady who here bristles up,
"Blame my procedure? Could the Court mistake?
(Which were indeed a misery to think);
Did not my sentence in the former stage
O' the business bear a title plain enough?
Decretum"—I translate it word for word—
"'Decreed: the priest, for his complicity
I' the flight and deviation of the dame,
As well as for unlawful intercourse,
Is banished three years:' crime and penalty
Declared alike. If he be taxed with guilt,
How can you call Pompilia innocent?
If both be innocent, have I been just?"
Gently, O mother, judge men—whose mistakeIs in the mere misapprehensiveness!TheTitulusa-top of your decreeWas but to ticket there the kind of chargeYou in good time would arbitrate upon.Title is one thing,—arbitration's self,Probatio, quite another possibly.Subsistit;there holds good the old response,Responsio tradita, we must not stick,Quod non sit attendendus Titulus,To the Title,sed Probatio, but the Proof,Resultans ex processu, the resultO' the Trial, and the style of punishment,Et pœna per sententiam imposita.All is tentative, till the sentence come:An indication of what men expect,But nowise an assurance they shall find.Lords, what if we permissibly relaxThe tense bow, as the law-god Phœbus bids,Relieve our gravity at labor's close?I traverse Rome, feel thirsty, need a draught,Look for a wine-shop, find it by the boughProjecting as to say "Here wine is sold!"So much I know,—"sold:" but what sort of wine?Strong, weak, sweet, sour, home-made or foreign drink?That much must I discover by myself."Wine is sold," quoth the bough, "but good or bad,Find, and inform us when you smack your lips!"Exactly so, Law hangs her title forth,To show she entertains you with such caseAbout such crime. Come in! she pours, you quaff.You find the Priest good liquor in the main,But heady and provocative of brawls:Remand the residue to flask once more,Lay it low where it may deposit lees,I' the cellar: thence produce it presently,Three years the brighter and the better!
Gently, O mother, judge men—whose mistake
Is in the mere misapprehensiveness!
TheTitulusa-top of your decree
Was but to ticket there the kind of charge
You in good time would arbitrate upon.
Title is one thing,—arbitration's self,
Probatio, quite another possibly.
Subsistit;there holds good the old response,
Responsio tradita, we must not stick,
Quod non sit attendendus Titulus,
To the Title,sed Probatio, but the Proof,
Resultans ex processu, the result
O' the Trial, and the style of punishment,
Et pœna per sententiam imposita.
All is tentative, till the sentence come:
An indication of what men expect,
But nowise an assurance they shall find.
Lords, what if we permissibly relax
The tense bow, as the law-god Phœbus bids,
Relieve our gravity at labor's close?
I traverse Rome, feel thirsty, need a draught,
Look for a wine-shop, find it by the bough
Projecting as to say "Here wine is sold!"
So much I know,—"sold:" but what sort of wine?
Strong, weak, sweet, sour, home-made or foreign drink?
That much must I discover by myself.
"Wine is sold," quoth the bough, "but good or bad,
Find, and inform us when you smack your lips!"
Exactly so, Law hangs her title forth,
To show she entertains you with such case
About such crime. Come in! she pours, you quaff.
You find the Priest good liquor in the main,
But heady and provocative of brawls:
Remand the residue to flask once more,
Lay it low where it may deposit lees,
I' the cellar: thence produce it presently,
Three years the brighter and the better!
Thus,Law's son, have I bestowed my filial help,And thus I end,tenax proposito;Point to point as I purposed have I drawnPompilia, and implied as terriblyGuido: so, gazing, let the world crown Law—Able once more, despite my impotence,And helped by the acumen of the Court,To eliminate, display, make triumph truth!What other prize than truth were worth the pains?
Thus,
Law's son, have I bestowed my filial help,
And thus I end,tenax proposito;
Point to point as I purposed have I drawn
Pompilia, and implied as terribly
Guido: so, gazing, let the world crown Law—
Able once more, despite my impotence,
And helped by the acumen of the Court,
To eliminate, display, make triumph truth!
What other prize than truth were worth the pains?
There 's my oration—much exceeds in lengthThat famed panegyric of Isocrates,They say it took him fifteen years to pen.But all those ancients could say anything!He put in just what rushed into his head:While I shall have to prune and pare and print.This comes of being born in modern timesWith priests for auditory. Still, it pays.
There 's my oration—much exceeds in length
That famed panegyric of Isocrates,
They say it took him fifteen years to pen.
But all those ancients could say anything!
He put in just what rushed into his head:
While I shall have to prune and pare and print.
This comes of being born in modern times
With priests for auditory. Still, it pays.