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Lice flourish in rags.

Kashmiri proverbs
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Rags & Old Iron

Norman curtis, oscar brown jr
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
I heard that old rag man now making his rounds
He came right to my alley lord with sorrowful sounds
Crying rags old iron and pulling his cart
Ask him how much hed give me for my broken heart
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
So I asked that old rag man how much he would pay
For a heart that was broken baby when you went away
For a burnt out old love light that no longer beams
And a couple of slightly used second hand dreams
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
For those big empty promises you used to make
For those memories of you that are no longer sweet
I wish he could haul them off down the street
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
When love doesnt last tell me what is it worth
It was once mamas most precious possession on earth
When I asked that old rag man if hed like to buy
He just shook his head and continued to cry
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
Rags old iron rags old iron
Rags old iron rags old iron rags old iron

song performed by Nina Simone
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You Look Good In Rags

Yeah yeah
Yeah
I've seen cool, I've seen cold
I've seen the women up front, way down below
Ladies of the evening screaming, some were like vipers
I've seen 'em dressed real tight, act real loose
I've seen 'em strutting good stuff, I've seen 'em all used
With thousand dollar faces and worth every penny they spend there
But you look good in rags
With dirt in your hair
Yeah you look good in rags babe
Oh, I don't care
(Ah, you look good)
Yes you look good in rags
With bones in your hair
Ah, you look good in anything
Ooh, I don't care
Now I've seen class, I've seen tack
I've seen 'em walking down the street with smoke in their stacks
And pouring into limos, they wake up in millionaires' bedrooms
I've seen their hair cut short, black and sleek
Tied in 20 thousand knots so ultra neat
Swearing by the Harper's Bazaar, like it equalled the Bible
But you look good in rags
With dirt in your hair
Yeah you look good in rags babe
Aw, I don't care
Yeah Yeah, you look good
Oh you look good in rags
With dirt in your hair
Ah yeah, you look good in anything
Forget about Vogue or them hundred dollar jeans,
You make a 2 dollar T-shirt obscene.
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag

[...] Read more

song performed by Alice Cooper
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Mad Maria

Mad Maria in the Square
Sits upon a wicker chair.
When the keeper asks the price
Mad Maria counts her lice.
No pesito can she pay,
So he shrugs and goes away;
Hopes she'll pay him with her prayers,
Shabby keeper of the chairs.

Mad Maria counts her lice,
Cracks them once and cracks them twice,
Combs them from her sunny hair;
People stop to turn and stare.
Innocent in thought and deed
Mad Maria pays no heed,
And the Cross upon her breast
Proves her blessed of the blest.

So she sings her little song,
Happy as the day is long,
hunting in her camisole
Shy partakers of her dole;
thinking: Heaven please forgive -
Even lice have leave to live;
(But sweet Reader, do not blame,
For she kills them just the same.)

Mad Maria goes unchid,
Mildest maid in all Madrid;

While around in serried ranks
Rear the bold facades of Banks;
But when wrath of Heaven smites
Hosts of Mammon's parasites,
Mad Maria will not fall,
Being oh so very small.

Pariahs to God belong,
to be weak is to be strong;
Fools are richer than the wise,
And who see with shining eyes
Angels in the sordid street
Deem their happiness complete. . . .
Mad Maria counts her beads,
Cracks her lice and - Heaven heeds.

poem by Robert William Service
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Coat Of Many Colors

Back through the years
I go wonderin once again
Back to the seasons of my youth
I recall a box of rags that someone gave us
And how my momma put the rags to use
There were rags of many colors
Every piece was small
And I didnt have a coat
And it was way down in the fall
Momma sewed the rags together
Sewin every piece with love
She made my coat of many colors
That I was so proud of
As she sewed, she told a story
From the bible, she had read
About a coat of many colors
Joseph wore and then she said
Perhaps this coat will bring you
Good luck and happiness
And I just couldnt wait to wear it
And momma blessed it with a kiss
Chorus:
My coat of many colors
That my momma made for me
Made only from rags
But I wore it so proudly
Although we had no money
I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
My momma made for me
So with patches on my britches
Holes in both my shoes
In my coat of many colors
I hurried off to school
Just to find the others laughing
And making fun of me
In my coat of many colors
My momma made for me
And oh I couldnt understand it
For I felt I was rich
And I told them of the love
My momma sewed in every stitch
And I told em all the story
Momma told me while she sewed
And how my coat of many colors
Was worth more than all their clothes
But they didnt understand it
And I tried to make them see
That one is only poor
Only if they choose to be

[...] Read more

song performed by Dolly Parton
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Coat Of Many Colors

(dolly parton)
Back through the years I go wondering once again
Back to the seasons of my youth
I recall a box of rags that someone gave us
And how my mamma put these rags to use
There were rags of many colours, and every piece was small
And I didnt have a coat and it was way down in the fall
Mamma sewed the rags together, sewing ever piece with love
She made my coat of many colours, that I was so proud of
As she sewed she told the story from the Bible she had read
About a coat of many colours, joseph wore and they she said
Perhaps this coat will bring you, much love and happiness
And I just couldnt wait to wear it, and mamma blessed it with a kiss
My coat of many colours that mamma made for me
Made only rags, but I wore it so proudly
Although we had no money. oh I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colours, my mamma made for me
So with patches on my breaches and holes in both my shoes
In my coat of many colours, I hurried off to school
Just to find the others laughing and makin fun of me
In my coat of many colours, my mamma made for me
Oh, I couldnt understand it, for I felt I was rich
And I told them of the love my mamma sewed in ever stitch
And I told them all the story, mamma told me while she sewed
And how my coat of many colours is worth more than all of their clothes
They didnt under stand it and I tried to make them see
That one is only poor only if they choose to be
Now I know we have no money, but Im as rich as I could be
In my coat of many colours, my mamma made for me
In my coat of many colours, my mamma just made for me

song performed by Emmylou Harris
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Coat Of Many Colors

Back through the years
I go wandering once again
Back to the seasons of my youth
I recall the box of rags
Someone gave us
And how my mama put the rags to use
There were rags of many colors
Every piece was small
And I didnt have a coat
And it was away down in the fall
Mama sewed the rags together
So in every piece with luck
She made my coat of many colors
That I was so proud of
As she sewed, she told a story
From the Bible she had read
About a coat of many colors joseph wore
And then she said,
Perhaps this coat
Will bring you good luck and happiness
And I just couldnt wait to wear it
And my mama blessed it with a kiss
My coat of many colors
That my mama made for me
Made only from rags
That I wore it so proudly
Although we had no money
Well, I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
I hurried off to school
Just to find the others laughing
And making fun of me
In my coat of many colors
My mama made for me
And no, I couldnt understand it
For I felt I was rich
And I told them all the story
Mama told me while she sewed
And how my coat of many colors
Was worth more than all their clothes
But they didnt understand it
And I tried to make them see
But one is only poor
Only if he chooses to be.
Now I know we had no money
In my coat of many colors
My mama made for me
Made just for me

song performed by Kenny Rogers
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Charlie Parker Loves Me

Silent as a willow tree
This road moves like a, a river to me
Sun goes down on Wisdom Street
Break the glass and throw away the key
Somewhere out where the fates collide (collide)
Cigarettes and candlelight
I sit here in the lone cafe
So stripped away (oh, oh)
So stripped away
Ah, huh
Huhhuh
Oh, ah, oh, ah
Everybody knows
I'm your street corner Romeo
Everybody knows
You're my Juliet in rags
And Charlie Parker loves me
Sit with me forever more
Is the draft too cold when they open door
Seem to me whenever you're drunk
And we'll drift away, drift away (drift away)
Ah, huh
Huhhuh
Oh, ah, oh, ah
Everybody knows (everybody)
I'm your street corner Romeo (oh, yeah)
Everybody knows
You're my Juliet in rags
And Charlie Parker loves me (ooh)
I feel your heart beat underneath my skin
Like a New Orleans night
But the rain can't get in
So red-hot dig the beat up underneath a cool, cool night
And the glass moonlight of spring
Everybody knows (ooh)
I'm your street corner Romeo (oh, yeah)
Everybody knows (know, yeah)
You're my Juliet in rags
Everybody knows (everybody knows)
I'm your street corner Romeo, yes, I am
(Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
Everybody knows (yeah)
You're my Juliet in rags
And Charlie Parker loves me (ooh)
Everybody knows
(I'm listenin' to ya, Charlie)
I'm your street corner Romeo
(Bird is fly high tonight)
Everybody knows
Everybody knows

[...] Read more

song performed by Rod Stewart
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Coat Of Many Colors

back through the yearsi go wondering once again
back to the seasons of my youth
i recall a box of rags that someone gave us
and how my momma put the rags to use
there were rags of many colors and every piece was small
and i didn't have a coat and it was way down in the fall
momma sewed the rags together sewing every piece with love she made my coat of many colors that i was so proud of
as she sewed she told a story from the bible she had read
about a coat of many colors Josheph wore and then she said
perhaps this coat will bring you good luck and happiness
and i just couldn't wait to wear it and momma blessed it with a kiss
my coat of many colors that my momma made for me
made only from rags but i wore it so proudly
i know we had money but i was rich as i could be in my coat of many colors
my momma made for me
so with patches on my britiches holes in both my shoes
in my coat of many colors i hurried off to school
just to find the others laughing and a making fun of me
in my coat of many colors my momma made for me
and oh i couldn't understand for i felt i was rich
and i told them all the love my momma sewed in every stich
and i told them all the story momma told me while she sewed
and how my coat of many colors was worth more than all their clothes
but they didn't understand and i tried to make them see
one is only poor only if they choose to be
now i know we have no money but i was rich as i could be
in my coat of many colors momma made for me
made just for me

song performed by Shania Twain
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M'Fingal - Canto IV

Now Night came down, and rose full soon
That patroness of rogues, the Moon;
Beneath whose kind protecting ray,
Wolves, brute and human, prowl for prey.
The honest world all snored in chorus,
While owls and ghosts and thieves and Tories,
Whom erst the mid-day sun had awed,
Crept from their lurking holes abroad.

On cautious hinges, slow and stiller,
Wide oped the great M'Fingal's cellar,
Where safe from prying eyes, in cluster,
The Tory Pandemonium muster.
Their chiefs all sitting round descried are,
On kegs of ale and seats of cider;
When first M'Fingal, dimly seen,
Rose solemn from the turnip-bin.
Nor yet his form had wholly lost
Th' original brightness it could boast,
Nor less appear'd than Justice Quorum,
In feather'd majesty before 'em.
Adown his tar-streak'd visage, clear
Fell glistening fast th' indignant tear,
And thus his voice, in mournful wise,
Pursued the prologue of his sighs.

"Brethren and friends, the glorious band
Of loyalty in rebel land!
It was not thus you've seen me sitting,
Return'd in triumph from town-meeting;
When blust'ring Whigs were put to stand,
And votes obey'd my guiding hand,
And new commissions pleased my eyes;
Blest days, but ah, no more to rise!
Alas, against my better light,
And optics sure of second-sight,
My stubborn soul, in error strong,
Had faith in Hutchinson too long.
See what brave trophies still we bring
From all our battles for the king;
And yet these plagues, now past before us,
Are but our entering wedge of sorrows!

"I see, in glooms tempestuous, stand
The cloud impending o'er the land;
That cloud, which still beyond their hopes
Serves all our orators with tropes;

[...] Read more

poem by John Trumbull
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The Hair

The ritual evanesced when we observed it,
The ritual completed when our lice grew.
The head was full of lice, I hear them and saw each of them,
Restraining the children with feet, the arms also.
Inexorable lice swayed in the hair of our heads
Until the ritual was entire.
What is this ritual?
The ritual is of the dressing of hair,
Or the cutting of hair by the hairdresser.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Sic Transit

Sudden summer laughter wave lift-drifts. Lush vale
stirs startled, sweating afternoon. Echo's no avail,
for sounds are swiftly smothered, as if some spider’s veil
Present, Past, Hereafter, threads, cocooning mortal wail.

Slowly drifting over sun-sparkling sylvan stream’s
springs and falls, bright sunlit halls, where silver salmon teems,
that fisher’s mind recalls far larger than his life-size dreams.
Scene subtle, suddenly disturbed, is smashed to smithereens.

Beasts tied to dry land try Time’s patience, thresher’s flail,
Brash bipeds too, though new, shall pass, ~ such small detail, ~
their lice must perish too, should spiders tell spun tale?
Arachnidae survive where flies die, race over, trace trails fail.

The crush-rush mortals know no wind-blown stones record
when hush dawn’s blushing show will welcome silence sans discord...

(23 March 1975 revised 3 August 2007,27 May 2008 robi03_0053)

For previous versions see below
Sic Transit
Sudden summer laughter wave lift-drifts through lush vale,
stirs, startles afternoon; - echo of no avail,
for sounds are smothered soon, as if some spider’s veil
Present, Past, Hereafter, surrounds â€" cocoons prevail.

Slowly drifting over sun-sparkling sylvan stream’s,
springs and falls, sunlit halls, where silver salmon teems
that fisher’s mind recalls far larger than his dreams, -
scene one sun, supernova, flash beams to smithereens.

Beasts tied to dry land try Time’s patience, thresher’s flail;
Brash bipeds too, though new, shall pass, ~ such small detail, ~
their lice must perish too, will insects tell their tale?
Who’d fly shall also die, race over, trace trails fail.

The crush, the rush, we know, what wind-blown stone records
when hush dawn’s blushing show welcomes without discord...?

(3 August 2007)

Sic Transit Gloria Mundi
Scented summer laughter, softly sifting through the vale,
stirs the silence sixty seconds, though all to no avail,
as the sound is swiftly smothered, as if by spider’s veil.

Slowly drifting over the rushing mountain streams, -
those springs and falls, the sunlit halls, where silver salmon teems, -
in which for scaly fare oft search the fearsome fishing teams.

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Picaro turns her face towards the sun

…chameleon like chiseled in a rock rock chained pours the rainbow colours the silent sky reflections where to think is if I was a tree I would turn my leaves to you so that you can mirror yourself in the streams of written currents if I were a butterfly I would turn my wings to you so that you can wing yourself in warmth from the hands an embrace to you if I had hands I would repeat the digging up of the wells which your light has not as yet reached if I was the light I would be faster than a thought if I had a thought from you I would make it a gift to the face cut in years towards death if I had a face I would not be a picaro of self an unoverstepped hurdle at the threshold of an entrance…I’ve got nothing.

Pikaro okreć e lice ka suncu
...kameleonski uzidan u stijenu stijenom rpikovan preliva dugine boje tihe odraze neba gdje misliti je da sam drvo okrenula bih lice ka tebi da se ogledaš u potocima ispisanog toka da sam leptir okrenula bih krila ka tebi da se raskriliš toplinom od ruku zagrljaj da imam ruke ponovila bih kopanja bunara gdje svjetlost tvoja stigla nije da sam svjetlost bila bih brža od misli da imam misao od tebe poklonila bih je licu što mu godine urezuju smrt da imam lice ne bih bila pikaro sopstva nepreskoč ena prepreka na pragu ulaska...Nemam ništa.

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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This is not my face/Ovo nije moje lice

This is not my face
This thing oozing out of your insipid reflection theories
When you're putting it into A is A A is B B is C

You know
C is maybe a newly born naked
Syllogism pointing at a tzar
So that you can ask him ask him
‘Tzar tzar oh master tell us what's the time'
And the tzar cannot hear you for he's got a goat's ears

This is not my face
This thing you're folding after you've ironed it
And placed it among the skirts trousers and shirts

You know
A shirt is perhaps a flag of my home
Put on a post to limit the borders of pain
So that you may ask it ask it
‘Does it hurt does it hurt tell us what's the time'
And the pain cannot hear you for its ears are cut

This is not my face
This thing you're turning to see it from each side
Whenever you turn it from A to B from B to C

You know
C is perhaps just a point without a face
Thrown into the universe
A monada looking for the Father

Why don't you take your reflections home

Ovo nije moje lice
To što curi iz bljutavih teorija odraza
Kada ga sklapate u A je A, A je B, B je C

Znate
C je možda ko od majke roden
Silogizam što upire prstom u cara
Pa ga pita pa ga pita
Care care o gospodare ko'ko ima sati
A car ne cuje jer ima kozje uši

Ovo nije moje lice
To što sklapate poslije peglanja
Medu suknje pantalone i košulje

[...] Read more

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Existences

Fenced carabaos of this Agricultural college Thrive on limited spread of grass Man-made They look forward To angles and rows of green hills and valley And clear flowing creeks To the other side The white herons, (wild ducks, sparrows, and mayas)
Fly above trees and (daffodils) And land on paddies with flecks Of surface mud fishes and tadpoles and mosquito larvae

I see The sparrows rest In flocks Lining up On electric cables Or Power Lines Watching army Worms and golden shells (kuhol) etching slowly, eating green greedily On rice and grass stalks

An owl hovers (the late owl, where was it last night?) On the island of twigs On an old mango tree (balding & ugly & dying)

No wonder The white herons (about twenty in all, I counted them patiently on digital cam) taunt The carabaos (muddy and thin as grasses were cut and cleaned by ROTC cadettes on Sundays, I can’t rationalize why the grass population be reduced) fenced On a limited supply of Manmade grass and Growth controlled

They wing finally when I got near them Lightly like blown leaves
This February wind And land on Carabaos’ backs Gleaning for lice Feasting on some pecking and swallowing & pecking again

Thriving on carabaos’ Hairs and skin some creatures though still

On the other side of the landscape A thin brown, woman With a buri hat And a rattan basket on one hand and a sack on the other Leans over A dry ricefield Gleaning for leftovers of palay

Beside her but not that really near The man drives the white herons Away to the other side of the island of banana trunks
Then he goes to the carabaos Their wet noses tied to an abaca roof and tied again to the cemented posts of this accredited agricultural college spreading about two hectares of stupidity

The questions about lice and herons and carabaos and grasses
And golden snails, tadpoles and mud fishes and sparrows died

The lice are free Feeding away from The eating white herons
They have flown away since then to the other side of my world

By now the flock of Sparrows On the electric cables or power lines Wing their way To a farther town as I leave them fast for lack of time for shortness of serendipity for lack of interest

There are pebbles inside my shoes.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Give Me Back My Rags #1

Give me back my rags

My rags of pure dreaming
Of silk smiling of striped foreboding
Of my cloth of lace

My rags of spotted hope
Of burnished desire of chequered glances
Of skin from my face

Give me back my rags
Give me when I ask you nicely

Trans. by Anne Pennington

Anonymous submission.

poem by Vasko Popa
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Hard Luck Woman

If never I met you
Id never have seen you cry
If not for our first hello
Wed never have to say goodbye
If never I held you
My feelins would never show
Its time I start walkin
But theres so much youll never know
I keep telling you hard luck woman
You aint a hard luck woman
Rags, the sailors only daughter
A child of the water
Too proud to be a queen
Rags, I really love you
I cant forget about you
Youll be a hard luck woman
Baby, till you find your man
Before I go let me kiss you
And wipe the tears from your eyes
I dont wanna hurt you, girl
You know I could never lie
I keep telling you hard luck woman
You aint a hard luck woman
Youll be a hard luck woman
Baby, till you find your man
Rags, the sailors only daughter
A child of the water
Too proud to be a queen
Rags, I really love you
I cant forget about you
Youll be a hard luck woman
Baby, till you find your man
Youll be a hard luck woman
Baby, till you find your man
Oh yeah, bye bye, so long, dont cry
Im just packin my bags, whoo, leavin you
Bye bye, bye bye, bye bye, baby, dont cry
I gotta keep on movin, yeah movin
Bye, bye my baby
Ooh, dont cry, lady, oh

song performed by Kiss
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Rags To Riches

Its a sign of the times, standing in line
Quietly waiting to go out of your mind
Theres nothing to say, no reason to stay
To fight for the right that they have taken away
Get what you get, not what you need
Time after time
* rags to riches, all fallen down
Rags to riches, tied up and bound
Theres no going under
When youre kicked to the ground
Rags to riches..rags to riches
Youre down on your knees, caught in the freeze
Crying inside but theres no easy release
Radical views--in yesterday news
Giving the reason with another excuse
Out on your own, cut to the bone
Time after time
Repeat * (2x)
(written and arranged by nazareth)
Copyright 1983 fool circle limited
All rights reserved.

song performed by Nazareth
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True Confession

1
Today, recovering from influenza,
I begin, having nothing worse to do,
This autobiography that ends a
Half of my life I'm glad I'm through.
O Love, what a bloody hullaballoo
I look back at, shaken and sober,
When that intemperate life I view
From this temperate October.
To nineteen hundred and forty-seven
I pay the deepest of respects,
For during this year I was given
Some insight into the other sex.
I was a victim, till forty-six,
Of the rosy bed with bitches in it;
But now, in spite of all pretexts,
I never sleep a single minute.

O fellow sailor on the tossing sea,
O fleeting virgin in the night,
O privates, general in lechery,
Shun, shun the bedroom like a blight:
Evade, O amorous acolyte,
That pillow where your heart can bury -
For if the thing was stood upright
It would become a cemetery.

I start with this apostrophe
To all apostles of true love:
With your devotion visit me,
Give me the glory of the dove
That dies of dereliction. Give
True love to me, true love to me,
And in two shakes I will prove
It's false to you and false to me.

Bright spawner, on your sandbank dwell
Coldblooded as a plumber's pipe -
The procreatory ocean swell
Warming, till they're over ripe,
The cockles of your cold heart, will
Teach us true love can instil
Temperature into any type.

Does not the oyster in its bed
Open a yearning yoni when
The full moon passes overhead
Feeling for pearls? O nothing, then,
Too low a form of life is, when
Love, abandoning the cloister,

[...] Read more

poem by George Barker
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V. Count Guido Franceschini

Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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