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!