Till beneath the rogue’s stare the Court’s visage grew red.
But down-choking his rising resentment, he said:—
“Richard Roe”—and he spoke quite emphatic and slow,
As though weighing each word before letting it go—
And inclined his head downward, as men often do
When they look over spectacles rather than through—
“Richard Roe, you have come to the surface once more,
Like the ghost to the feast of the monarch of yore;
I have lectured, imprisoned and fined you in vain—
You will still depredate, and confront me again.