How life is much, but time is more; and the beginning is
        everything,

     But the end is something.

     I loll in the Parks, I go to the wicket, I swipe.

     I see twenty-two young men from Foster’s watching me, and the
        trousers of the twenty-two young men,

     I see the Balliol men en masse watching me.—­The Hottentot
        that loves his mother, the untutored Bedowee, the Cave-man
        that wears only his certificate of baptism, and the shaggy
        Sioux that hangs his testamur with his scalps.

     I see the Don who ploughed me in Rudiments watching me:  and the
        wife of the Don who ploughed me in Rudiments watching me.

     I see the rapport of the wicket-keeper and umpire.  I cannot see
        that I am out.

     Oh! you Umpires!

     I am not one who greatly cares for experience, soap, bull-dogs,
        cautions, majorities, or a graduated Income-Tax,

     The certainty of space, punctuation, sexes, institutions,
        copiousness, degrees, committees, delicatesse, or the
        fetters of rhyme—­

     For none of these do I care:  but least for the fetters of rhyme.

     Myself only I sing.  Me Imperturbe!  Me Prononce!

     Me progressive and the depth of me progressive,

     And the bathos, Anglice bathos

     Of me chanting to the Public the song of Simple Enumeration.

CALIBAN UPON RUDIMENTS[1].

OR AUTOSCHEDIASTIC THEOLOGY IN A HOLE.

     Rudiments, Rudiments, and Rudiments! 
    ‘Thinketh one made them i’ the fit o’ the blues.

    ’Thinketh one made them with the ‘tips’ to match,
     But not the answers; ’doubteth there be none,
     Only Guides, Helps, Analyses, such as that: 
     Also this Beast, that groweth sleek thereon,
     And snow-white bands that round the neck o’ the same.

    ’Thinketh, it came of being ill at ease. 
    ’Hath heard that Satan finds some mischief still
     For idle hands, and the rest o ’t.  That’s the case. 
     Also ‘hath heard they pop the names i’ the hat,
     Toss out a brace, a dozen stick inside;
     Let forty through and plough the sorry rest.

    ’Thinketh, such shows nor right nor wrong in them,
     Only their strength, being made o’ sloth i’ the main—­
    ’Am strong myself compared to yonder names
     O’ Jewish towns i’ the paper.  Watch th’ event—­
    ’Let twenty pass, ’have a shot at twenty-first,
    ’Miss Ramoth-Gilead, ’take Jehoiakim,
    ’Let Abner by and spot Melchizedek,
     Knowing not, caring not, just choosing so,
     As it likes me each time, I do:  so they.