Page:Poems by Isaac Rosenberg (1922).djvu/87

 A steel to break his manacles: hard for us Moses has made him overseer. O, his slits Pry—pry.... For what?... To sell to Imra....

Sh! The thin-lipped abomination! Zig-zagging haschish tours in a fine style: It were delightful labour making bricks, Knowing they would kiss friendly with his head.

Dirt-draggled mongrels, circumcised slaves, You puddle with your lousy gibberish The holy air, Pharaoh's own tributary: Filthy manure for Pharaoh's flourishing, I'll circumcise and make holy your tongues, And stop one outlet to your profanation.

I’ve never seen one beg so for a blow; Too soft am I to resist such entreaty.

[Beats him.]

Your howling holds the earnest energies You cheat from Pharaoh when you make his bricks.