Half-caste race and Malabaris,
All alike must suffer by it.—
I have tried to fight the battle
Of our real, primal wood-speech,—
Tried to bring to life its carcass,—
Proved the people's right of shrieking,—
Shrieked myself, and shown the need of
Shrieks in poems for the people.—
Scantly, though, my work is valued.—
Now I think you grasp my sorrow.
Thanks for lending me a hearing;—
Have you counsel, let me hear it!
Peer.
[Softly.]
It is written: Best be howling With the wolves that are about you. [Aloud. Friend, if I remember rightly, There are bushes in Morocco, Where orang-outangs in plenty Live with neither bard nor spokesman;— Their speech sounded Malabarish;— It was classical and pleasing. Why don't you, like other worthies, Emigrate to serve your country? Huhu. Thanks for lending me a hearing;— I will do as you advise me.
[With a large gesture.
East! thou hast disowned thy singer! West! thou hast orang-outangs still! [Goes.
Begriffenfeldt.
Well, was he himself? I should rather think so.
He's filled with his own affairs, simply and solely.
