A Century of Parody and Imitation

by Unknown

FROM 'THE PUSS AND THE BOOTS.'

(BROWNING)

Put case I circumvent and kill him: good.

Good riddance—wipes at least from book o' th' world

The ugly admiration-note-like blot—

Gives honesty more elbow-room by just

The three dimensions of one wicked knave.

But then slips in the plaguy After-voice.

'Wicked? Holloa! my friend, whither away

So fast? Who made you, Moses-like, a judge

And ruler over men to spare or slay?

A blot wiped off forsooth! Produce forthwith

Credentials of your mission to erase

The ink-spots of mankind—t' abolish ill

For being what it is, is bound to be,

Its nature being so—cut wizards off

In flower of their necromantic lives

For being wizards, when 'tis plain enough

That they have no more wrought their wizardship

Than cats their cathood.' Thus the plaguy Voice,

Puzzling withal not overmuch, for thus

I turn the enemy's flank: 'Meseems, my friend,

Your argument's a thought too fine of mesh,

And catches what you would not. Every mouse

Trapped i' the larder by the kitchen wench

Might reason so—but scarcely with effect.

Methinks 'twould little serve the captured thief

To plead, "The fault's Dame Nature's, guiltless I.

Am I to blame that in the parcelling-out

Of my ingredients the Great Chemist set

Just so much here, there so much, and no more

(Since 'tis but question, after all is said,

Of mere proportion 'twixt the part that feels

And that which guides), so much proclivity

To nightly cupboard-breaking, so much lust

Of bacon-scraps, such tendency to think

Old Stilton-rind the noblest thing on earth?

Then the per contra—so much power to choose

The right and shun the wrong; so much of force

Of uncorrupted will to stoutly bar

The sensory inlets of the murine soul,

And, when by night the floating rare-bit fume

Lures like a siren's song, stop nostrils fast

With more than Odusseian sailor-wax:

Lastly so much of wholesome fear of trap

To keep self-abnegation sweet. Then comes

The hour of trial, when lo! the suadent scale

Sinks instant, the deterrent kicks the beam,

The heavier falls, the lighter mounts (as much

A thing of law with motives as with plums),

And I, forsooth, must die simply because

Dame Nature, having chosen so to load

The dishes, did not choose suspend for me

The gravitation of the moral world."

How would the kitchen-wench reply? Why thus

(If given, as scullions use, to logic-fence

And keen retorsion of dilemmata

In speeches of a hundred lines or so):

"Grant your plea valid. Good. There's mine to hear.

'Twas Nature made you? well: and me, no less;

You she by forces past your own control

Made a cheese-stealer? Be it so: of me

By forces as resistless and her own

She made a mouse-killer. Thus, either plays

A rôle in no wise chosen of himself,

But takes what part the great Stage Manager

Cast him for, when, the play was set afoot.

Remains we act ours—without private spite,

But still with spirit and fidelity,

As fits good actors: you I blame no whit

For nibbling cheese—simply I throw you down

Unblamed—nay, even morally assoiled,

To pussy there: blame thou not me for that."

Or say perhaps the girl is slow of wit,

Something inapt at ethics—why, then thus.

"Enough of prating, little thief! This talk

Of 'fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute,'

Is hugely out of place! What next indeed,

If all the casuistry of the schools

Be prayed in aid by every pilfering mouse

That's caught i' th' trap? See here, my thieving friend,

Thus I resolve the problem. We prefer

To keep our cheeses for our own behoof,

And eat them with our proper jaws; and so,

Having command of mouse-traps, we will catch

Whatever mice we can, and promptly kill

Whatever mice we catch. Entendez vous?

Aye, and we will, though all the mice on earth

Pass indignation votes, obtest the faith

Of gods and men, and make the welkin ring

With world-resounding dissonance of squeak!"'

But hist! here comes my wizard! Ready then

My nerves—and talons—for the trial of strength!

A stout heart, feline cunning, and—who knows?