SONNETS IN PRAISE OF A PUBLISHER
IT.
Egg of the Slime! Thy loose abortive lips
Mouth hateful things: thy shifty bloodshot eyes
Lurk craftily to snare some carrion prize,
The dainty morsel whence the poison drips
Unmarked : the maskéd infamy that slips
Into an innocent maw: corrupter wise!
Sly worm of hell! that close and cunning lies
With sucking tentacles for finger-tips.
Earth spits on thee, contagious Caliban!
Hell spits on thee ; her sin is spiritual.
Only the awful slime and excrement
That sin sheds off will own thee for a man.
Only the worms in dead men’s bowels that crawl
To lick a loathlier brother are content.
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