I26 
THE WORLD’S TRAGEDY. 
 
Churches — towers and spires and domes, 
Houses — nay !  But the white tribe’s homes 
Whose chalky skins shall match their shores, 
While their itching prudes and satiate whores 
Bear — strange fate ! — in that puritan den 
The goodliest graft of the race of men 
’Mid the ruck of hypocrite and slave 
That grovel and groan from the womb to the grave. 
Sadly keeping watch and ward 
Are the century and his guard. 
 
AGRIPPA 
 
These portents much oppress me. 
 
PUBLIUS 
 
Bodes 
Also my soul. 
 
AGRIPPA 
 
Such anger goads 
My spirit at this strange black time. 
— This duty hath the eyes of crime! 
 
PUBLIUS 
 
Duty insists.