Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

OUTSIDE THE SPANISH CLOISTER (ODE TO A.W.P. ESQ.) Foetus-face ! I hate your swinish Snivels against what is good. Mixed with pseudo-libertinish Would-be-naughty-if-you-could Show of dirty words from drabs Picked up east of Leicester Square. Yes ! The Ocean hath its crabs. (Otherwise ? Bah ! God knows where.) Climb the Matterhorn — with porters To pretend you need no guide ! You — O God ! — seduce the daughters That smile smugly at your side. You the debauchee — of Zermatt ! ! You ! Who cannot see a snub. Skin-thick ! Skull-thick ! παχυs δεqματοs Off, Lilith ! There’s the rub. Teach your engineers to bore ! (There your teaching none should lack.) Medicine’s rotten to the core. Slap the doctor on the back ! Tell the trainer and the jockey How to win a coming race ! Tell the geologist how rocky They are. (Joke !) You foetus-face ! Shakespeare said — O you say better Much — Bah ! Shakespeare was a stoat ! [113]