VIII
Could God's rods bruise God's Jews? Their jowls
Bobbed, sobbed, gaped, aped the plaice in face:
None heard, 'tis odds, his--God's--folk's howls.
Now, how must I apply, to try
This hookiest-beaked of owls?
IX
Well, I suppose God knows--I don't.
Time's crimes mark dark men's types, in stripes
Broad as fen's lands men's hands were wont
Leave grieve unploughed, though proud and loud
With birds' words--No! he won't!
X
One never should think good impossible.
Eh? say I'd hide this Jew's oil's cruse--
His shop might hold bright gold, engrossible
By spy--spring's air takes there no care
To wave the heath-flower's glossy bell!
XI
But gold bells chime in time there, coined--
Gold! Old Sphinx winks there--"Read my screed!"
Doctrine Jews learn, use, burn for, joined
(Through new craft's stealth) with health and wealth--
At once all three purloined!
XII
I rose with dawn, to pawn, no doubt,
(Miss this chance, glance untried aside?)
John's shirt, my--no! Ay, so--the lout!
Let yet the door gape, store on floor
And not a soul about?
XIII
Such men lay traps, perhaps--and I'm
Weak--meek--mild--child of woe, you know!
But theft, I doubt, my lout calls crime.
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