There! See our roof, its gilt moulding and groining Under those spider-webs lying! 20 So your fugue broadens and thickens, Greatens and deepens and lengthens, Till one exclaims "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 Hopes 'twas for something his organ-pipes sounded, Tiring three boys at the bellows? 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, Nothings grow something which quietly closes Heaven's earnest eye, not a glimpse of the far land Gets through our comments and glozes. 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. Yet all the while a misgiving will linger 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 — What, you want, do you, to come unawares, 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, You take me 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, I promised, if you'd watch a dinner out, We'd see truth dawn together? truth that peeps Over the glass's edge when dinner 's done, And body gets its sop and holds its noise And leaves soul free a little. Now's the time- And if I say, "despise me," Are up to the protesting eyes of you In pride at being seated here for once You'll turn it to such capital account! 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 — Oh, there was wine, and good! — what with the wine.. 'Faith, we began upon all sorts of talk! He's no bad fellow, Blougram Something of mine he relished. he had seen some review He's quite above their humbug in his heart, |