Statio Quinta

The shepherd calls, How these great niountain walls Re-echo! See his dog Come limping from the bog! How far he holds him With that thin clamour! Scolds him? Or cheers him, which? Say both, most like. The pitch Is steep, poor fellow! And still that bellow; Ya, ya! Whoop ' tittivat And Echo from her niche Shrieks challenged. Shout, O shepherd! flout The irritable Echo till she raves As man behaves, So God apportions, doing what is best For you, and for the rest. As man behaves! You do not help me much, Nay, sir, nor touch The central point at all, Retributive, mechanical, I see it. But outside all this I miss . . . I miss . . . Sir, know you Death? Permit me introduce No? What's the use? The use! . . . One thing I can collect, You have but scant respect For Death. Why, sir, he made a feint That very minute at you, quaint! The way he grins and skips, Whips! whips! Down! down! good dog! good Death! To heel, you rogue! Good Death! good dog! You'd rather not behold him? I've told him, I' faith, He'd frighten you, would Death. Provoked me, yes, you did, The shepherd chid His lagging hound, I had no other thought But how mad Echo caught The sound Of that exasperant call, And made it bound Back from the mountain wall.