Collected Works (Vol. II)

200 THE SWORD OF SONG ‘Science and Buddhism,” zzfra, for a full discussion of this point. 518. And.*’—Note the correct stress upon this word. Previously, Mr. W. S. Gilbert has done this in his superb lines: ‘* Except the plot of freehold land That held the cot, and Mary, and—” - But his demonstration is vitiated by the bad iambic ‘‘and Ma-”; unless indeed the juxta- position is intentional, as exposing the sophis- tries of our official prosodists. 548. The heathen.8—‘' The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God.” 580. Salan and Judas.°°—At the moment of passing the final proofs I am informed that the character of Judas has been rehabilitated by Mr. Stead (and rightly: is Mr. Abington* paid with a rope?) and the defence of Satan undertaken by a young society lady authoress ~——-a Miss Corelli—who represents him as an Angel of Light, z.e., one who has been intro- duced to the Prince of Wales. But surely there is some one who is the object of universal reprobation amongst Christians! Permit me to offer myself as a candidate. Sink, I beseech you, these sectarian differences, and combine to declare me at least Anathema Maranatha. 602. Panys of Death,”—Dr. Maudsley de- mands a panegyric upon death. It is true that evolution may bring us a moral sense of astonishing delicacy and beauty. But we are not there yet. A talented but debauched Irishman bas composed the following, which I can deplore, but not refute, for this type of man is probably more prone to repro- duce his species than any other. He called it ‘*Summa Spes.”’ I. Existence being sorrow, The cause of it desire, A merry tune I borrow To light upon the lyre: If death destroy me quite, Then, I cannot lament it; I've lived, kept life alight, And—damned if I repent it! Let me die in a ditch, Damnably drunk, Or lipping a punk, Or in bed with a bitch ! I was ever a hog ; Muck? Iam one with it! Let me die like a dog; Die, and be done with it! * Famous Adelphi villain. II, As far as reason goes, There's hope for mortals yet : When nothing is that knows, What is there to regret? Our consciousness depends On matter'in the brain; When that rots out, and ends, There ends the hour of pain. III, If we can trust to this, Why, dance and drink and revel! Great scarlet mouths to kiss, And sorrow to the devil ! If pangs ataxic creep, Or gout, or stone, annoy us, Queen Morphia, grant thy sleep! Let worms, the dears, enjoy us ! IV. But since a chance remains That ‘‘I;’ survives the body (So talk the men whose brains Are made of smut and shoddy), I'll stop it ifI can. (Ah Jesus, if Thou couldest !) I'll go to Martaban To make myself a Buddhist. V. And yet: the bigger chance Lies with annihilation. Follow the lead of France, Freedom's enlightened nation ! Off! sacerdotal stealth Of faith and fraud and gnosis! Come, drink me: Here's thy health, Arterio-sclerosis ! * Let me die in a ditch, Damnably drunk, Or lipping a punk, Or in bed with a bitch ! I was everahog; . Muck? Iam one with it! Let me die like a dog; Die, and be done with it ! 616. A lizard.71—A short account of the genesis of these poems seems not out of place here. The design of an elaborate parody on * The hardening of the arteries, which is the pre- disposing cause of senile decay; thus taken as the one positive assurance of death.