HAIL! CHILDISH SLAVES 35
I smoke a pipe abroad, because
To all cigars I much prefer it, And as I scorn your social laws
My choice has nothing to deter it.
Gladly I trudge the footpath way.
While you and yours roll by in coaches
In all the pride of fine array,
Through all the city's thronged approaches.
0 fine religious, decent folk,
In Virtue's flaunting gold and scarlet,
1 sneer between two puffs of smoke,— Give me the publican and harlot.
Ye dainty-spoken, stiff, severe
Seed of the migrated Philistian, One whispered question in your ear—
Pray, what was Christ, if you be Christian ? If Christ were only here just now,
Among the city's wynds and gables Teaching the life he taught us, how
Would he be welcome to your tables ?
I go and leave your logic-straws,
Your former-friends with face averteds
Your petty ways and narrow laws, Your Grundy and your God, deserted