Page:Captain Craig; a book of poems.djvu/53

Rh The squalor or the folly of a man Than a consciousness—though even the crude laugh Of indigent Priapus follow it— That I get good of him. The poet made Six golden sonnets. Well, Count Pretzel made No golden sort of product I remember Except a shield of wisdom for the mind Of Captain Craig—whatever you may think Of him or of his armor. If you like him, Then some time in the future, past a doubt, You will have him in a book, make metres of him,— To the great delight of Mr. Killigrew, And the grief of all your kinsmen. Christian shame And self-confuted Orientalism For the more sagacious of them; vulture-tracks Of my Promethean bile for the rest of them; And that will be a joke. There's nothing quite So funny as a joke that's lost on earth And laughed at by the gods. Your devil knows it.

"I come to like your Mr. Killigrew, And I rejoice that you speak well of him. The sprouts of human blossoming are in him, And useful eyes—if he will open them;