The World’s Tragedy

I26 THE WORLD’S TRAGEDY. Churches — towers and spires and domes, Houses — nay ! But the white tribe’s homes Whose chalky skins shall match their shores, While their itching prudes and satiate whores Bear — strange fate ! — in that puritan den The goodliest graft of the race of men ’Mid the ruck of hypocrite and slave That grovel and groan from the womb to the grave. Sadly keeping watch and ward Are the century and his guard. AGRIPPA These portents much oppress me. PUBLIUS Bodes Also my soul. AGRIPPA Such anger goads My spirit at this strange black time. — This duty hath the eyes of crime! PUBLIUS Duty insists.