Page:The heptalogia, or, The seven against sense - a cap with seven bells (IA heptalogiaorseve00swin).pdf/44

 Not bright, at best, his jest to these Seemed—screamed, shrieked, wreaked on kin for sin! When for mirth's yell earth's knell seemed please Some dumb new grim great whim in him Made Jews take chalk for cheese.

Could God's rods bruise God's Jews? Their jowls Bobbed, sobbed, gaped, aped the plaice in face: None heard, 'tis odds, his—God's—folk's howls. Now, how must I apply, to try This hookiest-beaked of owls?

Well, I suppose God knows—I don't. Time's crimes mark dark men's types, in stripes