From Pharisaic scum, the more unblushing
Since I dare not deal chastisement unless
I’m mad enough to turn fools into martyrs;
And from those Galileans some scant love,
No, a self-interested hanging-on,
Since I’m the Bogy of the Shining Sword
That from the distance scares their rabble-dregs.
And—this man brings me certain news of ill;
He was too hasty-eager to announce it.
For even he, though my own body-slave,