Doors open, welcome hospitable
For all, unchallenged, is my style;
But trust not to the fatuous fable
That _Caliban_'s free of my isle
With prosperous _Prospero's_ free consent.
Such lies mad autocrats invent.

Such for some centuries they've been telling,
Crime, like an asp, I'd gladly crush
Upon the threshold of my dwelling,
But shall not join a purblind rush
Of panic-stricken fools to play
The oppressor's game, for the spy's pay!

But you, foul, furtive desperadoes,
Who, frightened now by those you'd fright,
Would fain slink off among the shadows,
To plot out further deeds of night,
Our isle's immunity you boast!--
You're reckoning without your host.

I'll keep my eye on you; my Juries
I think you'll find it hard to scare;
_We_ worship no Anarchic furies,
For menace are not wont to care,
Here red-caught Crime in vain advances
"Extenuating Circumstances!"

* * * * *