Xxv

Ay, who indeed! Myself know nothing, but dare guess That oft she trips in haste to hand the booty ... yes, 'Twixt fold and fold of tent, there looms he, dim-discerned, The ogre, lord of all those lavish limbs have earned! --Brute-beast-face,--ravage, sear, scowl and malignancy,-- O' the Strong Man, whom (no doubt, her husband) by and by You shall behold do feats: lift up nor quail beneath A quintal in each hand, a cart-wheel 'twixt his teeth. Oh, she prefers sheer strength to ineffective grace, Breeding and culture! seeks the essential in the case! To him has flown my franc; and welcome, if that squint O' the diabolic eye so soften through absinthe, That for once, tambourine, tunic and tricot 'scape Their customary curse "Not half the gain o' the ape!" Ay, they go in together!