Volume Ii Part 16 (2/2)

- Sir, you speak well: your friend no word vouchsafes.

To flow with beauty, breeding fools and worse, Cowards and worse: at such fair life she chafes, Who is not wholly of the nursery, Nor of your schools: we share the primal curse; Together shake it off, say we!

XLI

- Hear, then, my friend, madam! Tongue-restrained he stands Till words are thoughts, and thoughts, like swords enriched With traceries of the artificer's hands, Are fire-proved steel to cut, fair flowers to view. - Do I hear him? Oh, he is bewitched, bewitched!

Heed him not! Traitress beauties you!

XLII

- We have won a champion, sisters, and a sage!

- Ladies, you win a guest to a good feast!

- Sir spokesman, sneers are weakness veiling rage.

- Of weakness, and wise men, you have the key.

- Then are there fresher mornings mounting East Than ever yet have dawned, sing we!

XLIII

- False ends as false began, madam, be sure!

- What lure there is the pure cause purifies!

- Who purifies the victim of the lure?

- That soul which bids us our high light pursue.

- Some heights are measured down: the wary wise Shun Reason in the masque with you!

XLIV

- Sir, for the friend you bring us, take our thanks.

Yes, Beauty was of old this barren goal; A thing with claws; and brute-like in her pranks!

But could she give more loyal guarantee Than wooing Wisdom, that in her a soul Has risen? Adieu: content are we!

XLV

Those ladies led their captive to the flood's Green edge. He floating with them seemed the most Fool-flushed old noddy ever crowned with buds.

Happier than I! Then, why not wiser too?

For he that lives with Beauty, he may boast His comrade over me and you.

XLVI

Have women nursed some dream since Helen sailed Over the sea of blood the blus.h.i.+ng star, That beauty, whom frail man as G.o.ddess hailed, When not possessing her (for such is he!), Might in a wondering season seen afar, Be tamed to say not 'I,' but 'we'?

XLVII

And shall they make of Beauty their estate, The fortress and the weapon of their s.e.x?

Shall she in her frost-brilliancy dictate, More queenly than of old, how we must woo, Ere she will melt? The halter's on our necks, Kick as it likes us, I and you.

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