I started, actually, to make my first animated cartoon in 1920. Of course, they were very crude things then and I used sort of little puppet things.
quote by Walt Disney
Added by Lucian Velea
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[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
Added by Poetry Lover
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S. N. A. F. U.
Now, the industry has got me thinking twice
Thinking with the treble mix, gotta shake em like dice
Let the whole world know I cant go for that
Girls know that I got gold and stacks
In every cul de sac from the streets to the clubs
Im making hits and everybodys showing love
Fact is Im back and Im rolling like jackson
Wont stop until Im back at multi platinum
So I start with some action, Im the main attraction
Here to lie down to the west crackin
Stackin big chips, holmes, gotta get em
Hauling in lots of residuals, what you got
You cant choose me
Bring it to you live for the year 2g
Situation normal all fu_ked up
Situation normal all fu_ked up
Situation normal all fu_ked up
Situation normal all fu_ked up
Thought I was a puppet you tried to play me
Yeah - and Im going crazy
Thought I was a puppet you tried to play me
No - you never ever made me
Thought I was a puppet you tried to play me
Yeah - and Im going crazy
Thought I was a puppet you tried to play me
No - Im all fu_ked up
Yo, ice its jim splice me in - no, stop
Begin, pause, cause I gotta call the next of kin
Tell em where you been, tell em that youre ok
Doa, here say, no way, wont say
Dead yes, dead all, not dead and gone
Like a multi-leader, a little bit withdrawn
Time and go like a vicious cycle
Then wham, make em think that you are coming out like george michael
On par to make people to turn in no sooner
Hook, line, and sinker; like charlie the tuna
Drop the hero and get with the zero
Ill try to keep it clean like mr. belvedere
Fu_k me, fu_k you, fu_k the single
Dont want to take it in the can, youre not pringles
But once you pop you cant stop
So dont interrupt - situation normal all fu_ked up
Situation normal all fu_ked up
Situation normal all fu_ked up
Situation normal all fu_ked up
Situation normal all fu_ked up
Thought I was a puppet you tried to play me
Yeah - and Im going crazy
Thought I was a puppet you tried to play me
No - you never ever made me
[...] Read more
song performed by Vanilla Ice
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cartoon World
(eric carmen/john wesley harding)
I like the colors
I like the way they move
Theyre all so brilliantly realized
They just could not be improved
I love the way the sex is so overt
I love the way the violence doesnt hurt
Its a cartoon world
Its exactly as it seems
And its bigger than life
And better than all your dreams
Its a cartoon world
Its a safer place to be
And its better than real
A perfect facsimile
Its a cartoon world
I like the things their saying
I like the way theyre said
I like to change the channels
While Im lying in my bed
From the commercial to the anchorman
Theyve done research on my attention span
Its a cartoon world
Its exactly as it seems
And its smaller than life
And better than all your dreams
Its a cartoon world
Its a safer place to be
And its better than real
And bigger than you and me
And the stars are brighter
Theyve got more charisma
And more style than you and me
I watch the news on tv
It doesnt mean a thing to me
Whats a little ethnic cleansing?
Thats the way its always been
I was excited when the war began
Now Ive got gameboy, Im a happy man
Its a cartoon world
Its exactly as it seems
And its bigger than life
And better than all your dreams
Its a cartoon world
Its a safer place to be
And its better than real
A perfect facsimile
Its a cartoon world
Its a cartoon world
Its a cartoon world
[...] Read more
song performed by Eric Carmen
Added by Lucian Velea
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Puppet Boy
Wake up puppet boy!
Get up puppet boy
You got a job to do
Even so youre free to go
Where your master tells you to
Listen puppet boy
Before you disobey
Consider that the strings attached
Could make a big change in your ways
Puppet boy
Its the little things that count
Little problems little minds
Little points of view
Puppet boy
Its the little things add up
Getting bigger pull the trigger
Little things like you
Stand up puppet boy
Time to start the show
Youd better do some brand new moves
They paid a lot to watch you go
No!
Whats that puppet boy
Dont tell me what to do
Whats that puppet boy
Im not a freak like you
Whats that puppet boy
Ill move when I want to
I cant hear you puppet boy
Now dance dance dance
Stay out of bed
Unless you wanna get wet
Im a boy not a toy
And Im not through yet
Stay out of bed
Unless you wanna get wet
Now wake up puppet boy
Listen puppet boy
Youre not a robot slave
Consider that no strings attached
Could ever make you misbehave
Puppet boy
Its the little things in life
Little problems little minds
Little points of view
Puppet boy
Its the little things that count
Getting bigger pull the trigger
Little things like you
Now wake up puppet boy!
song performed by Devo
Added by Lucian Velea
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Inside The Puppet Head
As your body floats down third street
With the burn-smell factory closing up
Yes its sad to say you will romanticize
All the things youve known before
It was not not not so great
It was not not not so great
And as you take a bath in that beaten path
Theres a pounding at the door
Well its a mighty zombie talking of some love and posterity
He says the good old days never say good-bye
If you keep this in your mind:
You need some lo-lo-loving arms
You need some lo-lo-loving arms
And as you fall from grace the only words you say are
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Put your hand inside
Put your hand inside
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Ads up in the subway are the work of someone
Trying to please their boss
And though the guys a pig we all know what he wants
Is just to please somebody else
If the pu-pu-puppet head
Was only bu-bu-busted in
It would be a better thing for everyone involved
And we wouldnt have to cry
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Put your hand inside
Put your hand inside
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Memo to myself: do the dumb things I gotta do
Touch the puppet head
Quit my job down at the carwash
Didnt have to write no-one a good-bye note
That said, the checks in the mail, and
Ill see you in church, and dont you ever change
If the pu-pu-puppet head
Was only bu-bu-busted in
Ill see you after school
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Put your hand inside
Put your hand inside
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Put your hand inside
Put your hand inside
[...] Read more
song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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Put Your Hand Inside The Puppet Head
As your body floats down third street
With the burn-smell factory closing up
Yes its sad to say you will romanticize
All the things youve known before
It was not not not so great
It was not not not so great
And as you take a bath in that beaten path
Theres a pounding at the door
Well its a mighty zombie talking of some love and posterity
He says the good old days never say good-bye
If you keep this in your mind:
You need some lo-lo-loving arms
You need some lo-lo-loving arms
And as you fall from grace the only words you say are
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Put your hand inside
Put your hand inside
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Ads up in the subway are the work of someone
Trying to please their boss
And though the guys a pig we all know what he wants
Is just to please somebody else
If the pu-pu-puppet head
Was only bu-bu-busted in
It would be a better thing for everyone involved
And we wouldnt have to cry
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Put your hand inside
Put your hand inside
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Memo to myself: do the dumb things I gotta do
Touch the puppet head
Quit my job down at the carwash
Didnt have to write no-one a good-bye note
That said, the checks in the mail, and
Ill see you in church, and dont you ever change
If the pu-pu-puppet head
Was only bu-bu-busted in
Ill see you after school
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Put your hand inside
Put your hand inside
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Put your hand inside the puppet head
Put your hand inside
Put your hand inside
[...] Read more
song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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Puppet Man
[Backup girls voices]
Puppet man
Puppet ma-an
Puppet man
Puppet ma-an
[Enter Jones Vocals]
Baby, Baby you know it's true
I'm a puppet just for you
I'll do any little thing you say
I wouldn't have it any other way
Take my heart and take my soul
I'm givin' you complete control
If you wanna see me do my thing, Baby pull my string Huh, yea
[Backup Girls next section]
Puppet man, puppet man-an
[enter Jones]
Baby, Baby, I'm your sweet pet
I'm just your personal marionette
Wind me up and let me go
Don't you know I'm a one man show?
Raise your finger and I'll perform
I'll crack a jack till' the crack a dawn
If you wanna see me do my thing, baby pull my string
[alternates between Jones and backup girls]
Pu-pa-pu-pa-pu-pa-pu-pa
Pu-pa-pu-pa-pu-pa-pu-pa
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-na-na-na
Shna- na-na-na-na-na-na
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-na-na-na
Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-na-na-na
Shna- na-na-na-na-na-na
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na
[backup girls]
Puppet man, puppet ma-an
[Enter Jones]
Baby, Baby I'm warning you, satisfaction guaranteed
Anytime you feel uptight
I'm at your service morning noon or night
I do whatcha' want me to
Cause I'm a puppet just for you
But if you wanna see me do my thing
Baby pull my string
[Alternates between backup girls and Jones]
Pu-pa-pu-pa-pu-pa-pu-pa
Pu-pa-pu-pa-pu-pa-pu-pa
Shna- na-na-na-na-na-na
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na
Pu-pa-pu-pa-pu-pa-pu-pa
Pu-pa-pu-pa-pu-pa-pu-pa
Shna- na-na-na-na-na-na
[...] Read more
song performed by Tom Jones
Added by Lucian Velea
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Goodbye Puppet Lady
Goodbye Puppet Lady, though they never knew you at all,
You told your Krendoll stories while toddlers at Barnes & Noble
crawled.
You walked out on to the Improv stage they whispered into your brain
Hemp named you Puppet Lady, but Razel puppet got in the way.
And it seems you lived your life like UniCandle unicorn’s flame in the
wind
Never knowing who to cling to when Razel’s ice spell set in.
Puppet Lady Fame was tough
The toughest role you ever played but Lake Worth created a Superstar
Just ask good friend Jim sitting at Ray’s back table.
And I would of like to have known you
But you far and away your candles still burn brightly
With UniCandle unicorn’s magical flame.
Goodbye Puppet Lady
Your more than our Puppet Lady, and Your much more than Razel,
And your doll Melodie Mezoree’.
GOODBYE PUPPET
LADY
And it seems to me you lived your life
Like a puppet with no strings with no parachute to catch you
When the Rum Shack stage fell in.
Goodbye Puppet Lady
From the old man in the 3rd row Thank you for the memories
At Ray’s, South Shores and Rumshack comedy show.
And I would have liked to have known you…
[...] Read more
poem by Suzae Chevalier
Added by Poetry Lover
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You Started This Fire
I lay with you and it's,
Under-cover.
With a ring-aling that dings.
And penetrates to get to things.
Aaahhh, aaahhh, aaahhh.
I lay with you and it's,
Under-cover.
With a ring-aling that dings.
And penetrates to get to things.
And penetrates to get to things.
Repeat.
And penetrates to get to things.
Repeat.
And penetrates to get to things.
Aaahhh, aaahhh, aaahhh.
Now who started this fire?
With a-ring and a-ding-ding-ding.
And a,
Big dingalingaling.
In this,
Sticky heat!
And, breathing deep.
Now who is accused for this fire?
That makes my breathing deep.
And...
Makes me clinch both fist and teeth.
Now who is accused for this fire?
That makes my breathing deep.
And...
Makes me clinch both fist and teeth.
You lay bare with naked clues!
You must of have started this fire.
You looking as if you know what to do too.
You must of have started this fire,
To build up my desire.
And why do I suspect that,
You have done this thing and...
That you want to bring me,
To a place....
To hear me scream
You lay bare with naked clues!
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Old Spookses' Pass
I.
WE'D camped that night on Yaller Bull Flat,--
Thar was Possum Billy, an' Tom, an' me.
Right smart at throwin' a lariat
Was them two fellers, as ever I see;
An' for ridin' a broncho, or argyin' squar
With the devil roll'd up in the hide of a mule,
Them two fellers that camp'd with me thar
Would hev made an' or'nary feller a fool.
II.
Fur argyfyin' in any way,
Thet hed to be argy'd with sinew an' bone,
I never see'd fellers could argy like them;
But just right har I will hev to own
Thet whar brains come in in the game of life,
They held the poorest keerds in the lot;
An' when hands was shown, some other chap
Rak'd in the hull of the blamed old pot!
III.
We was short of hands, the herd was large,
An' watch an' watch we divided the night;
We could hear the coyotes howl an' whine,
But the darned critters kept out of sight
Of the camp-fire blazin'; an' now an' then
Thar cum a rustle an' sort of rush--
A rattle a-sneakin' away from the blaze,
Thro' the rattlin', cracklin' grey sage bush.
IV.
We'd chanc'd that night on a pootyish lot,
With a tol'ble show of tall, sweet grass--
We was takin' Speredo's drove across
The Rockies, by way of "Old Spookses' Pass"--
An' a mite of a creek went crinklin' down,
Like a "pocket" bust in the rocks overhead,
Consid'able shrunk, by the summer drought,
To a silver streak in its gravelly bed.
V.
'Twas a fairish spot fur to camp a' night;
An' chipper I felt, tho' sort of skeer'd
That them two cowboys with only me,
Couldn't boss three thousand head of a herd.
I took the fust of the watch myself;
An' as the red sun down the mountains sprang,
I roll'd a fresh quid, an' got on the back
Of my peart leetle chunk of a tough mustang.
VI.
An' Possum Billy was sleepin' sound
Es only a cowboy knows how to sleep;
An' Tommy's snores would hev made a old
Buffalo bull feel kind o' cheap.
[...] Read more
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Added by Poetry Lover
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Canto the First
I
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan—
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.
II
Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,
Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,
Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
And fill'd their sign posts then, like Wellesley now;
Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk,
Followers of fame, "nine farrow" of that sow:
France, too, had Buonaparté and Dumourier
Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.
III
Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau,
Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette,
Were French, and famous people, as we know:
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,
Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Desaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,
Exceedingly remarkable at times,
But not at all adapted to my rhymes.
IV
Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,
And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd;
There's no more to be said of Trafalgar,
'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd;
Because the army's grown more popular,
At which the naval people are concern'd;
Besides, the prince is all for the land-service,
Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.
V
Brave men were living before Agamemnon
And since, exceeding valorous and sage,
A good deal like him too, though quite the same none;
But then they shone not on the poet's page,
And so have been forgotten:—I condemn none,
But can't find any in the present age
Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one);
So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan.
[...] Read more
poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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III. The Other Half-Rome
Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
From nobleness to nobleness, as she,
Over the rough way of the world, succumbs,
Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot,
The angels love to do their work betimes,
Staunch some wounds here nor leave so much for God.
Who knows? However it be, confessed, absolved,
She lies, with overplus of life beside
To speak and right herself from first to last,
Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave,
Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son
From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus,
And—with best smile of all reserved for him—
Pardon that sire and husband from the heart.
A miracle, so tell your Molinists!
There she lies in the long white lazar-house.
Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt,
Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear
Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge
When the reluctant wicket opes at last,
Lets in, on now this and now that pretence,
Too many by half,—complain the men of art,—
For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first
Paid the due visit—justice must be done;
They took her witness, why the murder was.
Then the priests followed properly,—a soul
To shrive; 't was Brother Celestine's own right,
The same who noises thus her gifts abroad.
But many more, who found they were old friends,
Pushed in to have their stare and take their talk
[...] Read more
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
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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IV. Tertium Quid
True, Excellency—as his Highness says,
Though she's not dead yet, she's as good as stretched
Symmetrical beside the other two;
Though he's not judged yet, he's the same as judged,
So do the facts abound and superabound:
And nothing hinders that we lift the case
Out of the shade into the shine, allow
Qualified persons to pronounce at last,
Nay, edge in an authoritative word
Between this rabble's-brabble of dolts and fools
Who make up reasonless unreasoning Rome.
"Now for the Trial!" they roar: "the Trial to test
"The truth, weigh husband and weigh wife alike
"I' the scales of law, make one scale kick the beam!"
Law's a machine from which, to please the mob,
Truth the divinity must needs descend
And clear things at the play's fifth act—aha!
Hammer into their noddles who was who
And what was what. I tell the simpletons
"Could law be competent to such a feat
"'T were done already: what begins next week
"Is end o' the Trial, last link of a chain
"Whereof the first was forged three years ago
"When law addressed herself to set wrong right,
"And proved so slow in taking the first step
"That ever some new grievance,—tort, retort,
"On one or the other side,—o'ertook i' the game,
"Retarded sentence, till this deed of death
"Is thrown in, as it were, last bale to boat
"Crammed to the edge with cargo—or passengers?
"'Trecentos inseris: ohe, jam satis est!
"'Huc appelle!'—passengers, the word must be."
Long since, the boat was loaded to my eyes.
To hear the rabble and brabble, you'd call the case
Fused and confused past human finding out.
One calls the square round, t' other the round square—
And pardonably in that first surprise
O' the blood that fell and splashed the diagram:
But now we've used our eyes to the violent hue
Can't we look through the crimson and trace lines?
It makes a man despair of history,
Eusebius and the established fact—fig's end!
Oh, give the fools their Trial, rattle away
With the leash of lawyers, two on either side—
One barks, one bites,—Masters Arcangeli
And Spreti,—that's the husband's ultimate hope
Against the Fisc and the other kind of Fisc,
Bound to do barking for the wife: bow—wow!
Why, Excellency, we and his Highness here
Would settle the matter as sufficiently
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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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
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The Ghost - Book IV
Coxcombs, who vainly make pretence
To something of exalted sense
'Bove other men, and, gravely wise,
Affect those pleasures to despise,
Which, merely to the eye confined,
Bring no improvement to the mind,
Rail at all pomp; they would not go
For millions to a puppet-show,
Nor can forgive the mighty crime
Of countenancing pantomime;
No, not at Covent Garden, where,
Without a head for play or player,
Or, could a head be found most fit,
Without one player to second it,
They must, obeying Folly's call,
Thrive by mere show, or not at all
With these grave fops, who, (bless their brains!)
Most cruel to themselves, take pains
For wretchedness, and would be thought
Much wiser than a wise man ought,
For his own happiness, to be;
Who what they hear, and what they see,
And what they smell, and taste, and feel,
Distrust, till Reason sets her seal,
And, by long trains of consequences
Insured, gives sanction to the senses;
Who would not (Heaven forbid it!) waste
One hour in what the world calls Taste,
Nor fondly deign to laugh or cry,
Unless they know some reason why;
With these grave fops, whose system seems
To give up certainty for dreams,
The eye of man is understood
As for no other purpose good
Than as a door, through which, of course,
Their passage crowding, objects force,
A downright usher, to admit
New-comers to the court of Wit:
(Good Gravity! forbear thy spleen;
When I say Wit, I Wisdom mean)
Where (such the practice of the court,
Which legal precedents support)
Not one idea is allow'd
To pass unquestion'd in the crowd,
But ere it can obtain the grace
Of holding in the brain a place,
Before the chief in congregation
Must stand a strict examination.
Not such as those, who physic twirl,
Full fraught with death, from every curl;
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poem by Charles Churchill
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society
Epigraph
Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.
I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.
You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:
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poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I. The Ring and the Book
Do you see this Ring?
'T is Rome-work, made to match
(By Castellani's imitative craft)
Etrurian circlets found, some happy morn,
After a dropping April; found alive
Spark-like 'mid unearthed slope-side figtree-roots
That roof old tombs at Chiusi: soft, you see,
Yet crisp as jewel-cutting. There's one trick,
(Craftsmen instruct me) one approved device
And but one, fits such slivers of pure gold
As this was,—such mere oozings from the mine,
Virgin as oval tawny pendent tear
At beehive-edge when ripened combs o'erflow,—
To bear the file's tooth and the hammer's tap:
Since hammer needs must widen out the round,
And file emboss it fine with lily-flowers,
Ere the stuff grow a ring-thing right to wear.
That trick is, the artificer melts up wax
With honey, so to speak; he mingles gold
With gold's alloy, and, duly tempering both,
Effects a manageable mass, then works:
But his work ended, once the thing a ring,
Oh, there's repristination! Just a spirt
O' the proper fiery acid o'er its face,
And forth the alloy unfastened flies in fume;
While, self-sufficient now, the shape remains,
The rondure brave, the lilied loveliness,
Gold as it was, is, shall be evermore:
Prime nature with an added artistry—
No carat lost, and you have gained a ring.
What of it? 'T is a figure, a symbol, say;
A thing's sign: now for the thing signified.
Do you see this square old yellow Book, I toss
I' the air, and catch again, and twirl about
By the crumpled vellum covers,—pure crude fact
Secreted from man's life when hearts beat hard,
And brains, high-blooded, ticked two centuries since?
Examine it yourselves! I found this book,
Gave a lira for it, eightpence English just,
(Mark the predestination!) when a Hand,
Always above my shoulder, pushed me once,
One day still fierce 'mid many a day struck calm,
Across a Square in Florence, crammed with booths,
Buzzing and blaze, noontide and market-time,
Toward Baccio's marble,—ay, the basement-ledge
O' the pedestal where sits and menaces
John of the Black Bands with the upright spear,
'Twixt palace and church,—Riccardi where they lived,
His race, and San Lorenzo where they lie.
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Canto the Second
I
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,
I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,
It mends their morals, never mind the pain:
The best of mothers and of educations
In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain,
Since, in a way that's rather of the oddest, he
Became divested of his native modesty.
II
Had he but been placed at a public school,
In the third form, or even in the fourth,
His daily task had kept his fancy cool,
At least, had he been nurtured in the north;
Spain may prove an exception to the rule,
But then exceptions always prove its worth -—
A lad of sixteen causing a divorce
Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.
III
I can't say that it puzzles me at all,
If all things be consider'd: first, there was
His lady-mother, mathematical,
A—never mind; his tutor, an old ass;
A pretty woman (that's quite natural,
Or else the thing had hardly come to pass);
A husband rather old, not much in unity
With his young wife—a time, and opportunity.
IV
Well—well, the world must turn upon its axis,
And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,
And live and die, make love and pay our taxes,
And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails;
The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us,
The priest instructs, and so our life exhales,
A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame,
Fighting, devotion, dust,—perhaps a name.
V
I said that Juan had been sent to Cadiz -—
A pretty town, I recollect it well -—
'T is there the mart of the colonial trade is
(Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel),
And such sweet girls—I mean, such graceful ladies,
Their very walk would make your bosom swell;
I can't describe it, though so much it strike,
Nor liken it—I never saw the like:
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poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
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Old Spense
You've seen his place, I reckon, friend?
'Twas rather kind ov tryin'.
The way he made the dollars fly,
Such gimcrack things a-buyin'--
He spent a big share ov a fortin'
On pesky things that went a snortin'
And hollerin' over all the fields,
And ploughin' ev'ry furrow;
We sort ov felt discouraged, for
Spense wusn't one to borrow;
An' wus--the old chap wouldn't lend
A cent's wuth to his dearest friend!
Good land! the neighbours seed to wunst
Them snortin', screamin' notions
Wus jest enough tew drown the yearth
In wrath, like roarin' oceans,
'An' guess'd the Lord would give old Spense
Blue fits for fightin' Pruvidence!'
Spense wus thet harden'd; when the yearth
Wus like a bak'd pertater;
Instead ov prayin' hard fur rain,
He fetched an irrigator.
'The wicked flourish like green bays!'
Sed folks for comfort in them days.
I will allow his place was grand
With not a stump upon it,
The loam wus jest as rich an' black
Es school ma'am's velvet bunnit;
But tho' he flourish'd, folks all know'd
What spiritooal ear-marks he show'd.
Spense had a notion in his mind,
Ef some poor human grapples
With pesky worms thet eat his vines,
An' spile his summer apples,
It don't seem enny kind ov sense
Tew call that 'cheekin' Pruvidence!'
An' ef a chap on Sabbath sees
A thunder cloud a-strayin'
Above his fresh cut clover an'
Gets down tew steddy prayin',
An' tries tew shew the Lord's mistake,
Instead ov tacklin' tew his rake,
He ain't got enny kind ov show
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poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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