17
My race neglected, from its degradation,
I’d raise by culture and civilization;
I’d till the glebe for spiritual sowing
My ancestors, in secular neglect, had
Let fallow: by my glorious deed bestowing
On mine, the self-same rights the race elect had.
To-day, upon that glorious task I enter;
But ere to spheres of higher thought I venture,
I’ll touch on three things where the outward shape
Differs most strikingly in man and ape.
First, there’s our tails, which only in derision
Stream out behind us. This is my decision:
Dock the superfluous adjunct with a chopper
At once; ’tis not nice, not to say improper.
And then our foot, which long disuse degrading
To be the hands’ mere helpmate, blindly stumbles,
Nor knows the art of orderly parading,
But for its bough, with thumb inconstant fumbles
Shall reach at last its natural destination
And real top boots, its toes compressing tightly,
Conform it promptly to the latest fashion.
And then—woe’s me! that matters so unsightly
In open Parliament should e’er be treated
With unflushed cheeks-things scarce to be repeated.
Woe’s me! your feelings have been so neglected—
So dreadfully—my nation most respected,
You’ll hear, perhaps unflinching, what half-speechless
I—nay, my modest tongue—words fail—you’re breechless.
Nay, never point for your more deep discredit
On that coarse fur—that brute-beasts’ vesture tedded
That only muffles—shame if man now caught us!
Enough about this object. Brief, I vow, sirs,
