The Norton Anthology of English literature. Volume 2

2. I.e., shall I please Setebos, as Prospero does, was punished? and thus prevent my being punished as the newt 3. I.e., that is fearless enough to steal.

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130 2 / ROBERT BROWNING

If He surprise not even the Quiet's self Some strange day�or, suppose, grow into it As grubs grow butterflies: else, here are we, And there is He, and nowhere help at all.

250 'Believeth with the life, the pain shall stop. His dam held different, that after death He both plagued enemies and feasted friends: Idly!4 He doth His worst in this our life, Giving just respite lest we die through pain,

255 Saving last pain for worst�with which, an end. Meanwhile, the best way to escape His ire Is, not to seem too happy. 'Sees, himself, Yonder two flies, with purple films and pink, Bask on the pompion-bell above: kills both.

260 'Sees two black painful beetles roll their ball On head and tail as if to save their lives: Moves them the stick away they strive to clear.

Even so, 'would have Him misconceive, suppose This Caliban strives hard and ails no less,

265 And always, above all else, envies Him; Wherefore he mainly dances on dark nights, Moans in the sun, gets under holes to laugh, And never speaks his mind save housed as now: Outside, 'groans, curses. If He caught me here,

270 O'erheard this speech, and asked "What chucklest at?" 'Would, to appease Him, cut a finger off, Or of my three kid yearlings burn the best, Or let the toothsome apples rot on tree, Or push my tame beast for the ore to taste:

275 While myself lit a fire, and made a song And sung it, "What I hate, he consecrate To celebrate Thee and Thy state, no mate For Thee; what see for envy in poor me?"

Hoping the while, since evils sometimes mend,

280 Warts rub away and sores are cured with slime, That some strange day, will either the Quiet catch And conquer Setebos, or likelier He Decrepit may doze, doze, as good as die.

[What, what? A curtain o'er the world at once!

285 Crickets stop hissing; not a bird�or, yes, There scuds His raven5 that has told Him all! It was fool's play this prattling! Ha! The wind Shoulders the pillared dust, death's house o' the move,6 And fast invading fires begin! White blaze�

290 A tree's head snaps�and there, there, there, there, there, His thunder follows! Fool to gibe at Him! Lo! 'Lieth flat and loveth Setebos!

4. I.e., Caliban thinks his mother's opinion was news to Odin, the most powerful god. wrong or idle. Setebos's sport with his creatures is 6. The whirlwind stirs up a column of dust that confined to this world: there is no afterlife. Caliban associates with a house of death. 5. In Norse mythology ravens brought the daily

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ABT VOGLER / 1303

'Maketh his teeth meet through his upper lip,

Will let those quails fly, will not eat this month One little mess of whelks,0 so he may scape!] shellfish

1860 1864

Abt Vogler1

(After He has Been Extemporizing Upon the Musical Instrument of His Invention2)

i

Would that the structure brave, the manifold music I build,

Bidding my organ obey, calling its keys to their work,

Claiming each slave of the sound, at a touch, as when Solomon willed

Armies of angels that soar, legions of demons that lurk,

Man, brute, reptile, fly�alien of end and of aim,

Adverse, each from the other heaven-high, hell-deep removed�

Should rush into sight at once as he named the ineffable Name,3

And pile him a palace straight,4 to pleasure the princess5 he loved!

2

Would it might tarry like his, the beautiful building of mine,

This which my keys in a crowd pressed and importuned to raise!

Ah, one and all, how they helped, would dispart0 now and now divide

combine,

Zealous to hasten the work, heighten their master his praise!

And one would bury his brow with a blind plunge down to hell,

Burrow awhile and build, broad on the roots of things,

Then up again swim into sight, having based me my palace well,

Founded it, fearless of flame, flat on the nether springs.

3

And another would mount and march, like the excellent minion he was,

Aye, another and yet another, one crowd but with many a crest,

Raising my rampired6 walls of gold as transparent as glass,

Eager to do and die, yield each his place to the rest:

For higher still and higher (as a runner tips with fire,

When a great illumination surprises a festal night�

Outlining round and round Rome's dome from space to spire)7

Up, the pinnacled glory reached, and the pride of my soul was in sight.