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6 Like bones the children tie to yelping curs.

So then, our true mathesis, next and next!

From Caucasus I wandered back to Rome—

Three days in the Vatican invisible,

Ate with the Pope, snatched from his holy dish

Beneath his holy fingers, stole his cup

Out from his stretching hand; oh saints! to see

Him grasp for wine to cool a burning tongue,

Blistered with meat, and miss the cup and stare

Mouth open at its sudden flight toward Heaven,

While all the table thumbed their beads and gasped

Nunc dimittis, and crossed at brow and chin.

They rang the bells three hours to flout the devil.

They blamed the devil, then.—It's so at Rome:

Lack food, lack gold, lack kisses, blame the devil!