Analysis of Holy-Cross Day

Robert Browning 1812 (Camberwell) – 1889 (Venice)



ON WHICH THE JEWS WERE FORCED TO
ATTEND AN ANNUAL CHRISTIAN SERMON
IN ROME.

[``Now was come about Holy-Cross Day,
and now must my lord preach his first sermon
to the Jews: as it was of old cared for in tine
merciful bowels of the Church, that, so to
speak, a crumb at least from her conspicuous
table here in Rome should be, though but
once yearly, cast to the famishing dogs, under-trampled
and bespitten-upon beneath the feet
of the guests.  And a moving sight in truth,
this, of so many of the besotted blind restif
and ready-to-perish Hebrews! now maternally
brought---nay (for He saith, `Compel them
to come in') haled, as it were, by the head and
hair, and against their obstinate hearts, to partake
of the heavenly grace.  What awakening,
what striving with tears, what working of a
yeasty conscience!  Nor was my lord wanting
to himself on so apt an occasion; witness
the abundance of conversions which did incontinently
reward him: though not to my
lord be altogether the glory.''---_Diary by the
Bishop's Secretary,_ 1600.]

What the Jews really said, on thus being
driven to church, was rather to this effect:---

Fee, faw, fum! bubble and squeak!
Blessedest Thursday's the fat of the week.
Rumble and tumble, sleek and rough,
Stinking and savoury, simug and gruff,
Take the church-road, for the bell's due chime
Gives us the summons---'tis sermon-time!

Bob, here's Barnabas!  Job, that's you?
Up stumps Solomon---bustling too?
Shame, man! greedy beyond your years
To handsel the bishop's shaving-shears?
Fair play's a jewel!  Leave friends in the lurch?
Stand on a line ere you start for the church!

Higgledy piggledy, packed we lie,
Rats in a hamper, swine in a stye,
Wasps in a bottle, frogs in a sieve,
Worms in a carcase, fleas in a sleeve.
Hist! square shoulders, settle your thumbs
And buzz for the bishop---here he comes.

Bow, wow, wow---a bone for the dog!
I liken his Grace to an acorned hog.
What, a boy at his side, with the bloom of a lass,
To help and handle my lord's hour-glass!
Didst ever behold so lithe a chine?
His cheek hath laps like a fresh-singed swine.

Aaron's asleep---shove hip to haunch,
Or somebody deal him a dig in the paunch!
Look at the purse with the tassel and knob,
And the gown with the angel and thingumbob!
What's he at, quotha? reading his text!
Now you've his curtsey---and what comes next?

See to our converts---you doomed black dozen---
No stealing away---nor cog nor cozen!
You five, that were thieves, deserve it fairly;
You seven, that were beggars, will live less sparely;
You took your turn and dipped in the hat,
Got fortune---and fortune gets you; mind that!

Give your first groan---compunction's at work;
And soft! from a Jew you mount to a Turk.
Lo, Micah,---the selfsame beard on chin
He was four times already converted in!
Here's a knife, clip quick---it's a sign of grace---
Or he ruins us all with his hanging-face.

Whom now is the bishop a-leering at?
I know a point where his text falls pat.
I'll tell him to-morrow, a word just now
Went to my heart and made me vow
I meddle no more with the worst of trades---
Let somebody else pay his serenades.

Groan all together now, whee-hee-hee!
It's a-work, it's a-work, ah, woe is me!
It began, when a herd of us, picked and placed,
Were spurred through the Corso, stripped to the waist;
Jew brutes, with sweat and blood well spent
To usher in worthily Christian Lent.

It grew, when the hangman entered our bounds,
Yelled, pricked us out to his church like hounds:
It got to a pitch, when the hand indeed
Which gutted my purse would throttle my creed:
And it overflows when, to even the odd,
Men I helped to their sins help me to their God.

But now, while the scapegoats leave our flock,
And the rest sit silent and count the clock,
Since forced to muse the appointed time
On these precious facts and truths sublime,---
Let us fitly ennploy it, under our breath,
In saying Ben Ezra's Song of Death.

For Rabbi Ben Ezra, the night he died,
Called sons and sons' sons to his side,
And spoke, ``This world has been harsh and strange;
``Something is wrong: there needeth a change.
``But what, or where? at the last or first?
``In one point only we sinned, at worst.

``The Lord will have mercy o


Scheme ABX XBCADXXXXEFXXXGHGDFXHX GX IIEEJJ AAXXKK FXEELL XXMMBC KKNNOO BBFFPP QQRRSS PPXEXD TTUUVV WWXXYY ZZJJ1 1 2 2 3 3 4 4 X
Poetic Form Tetractys  (20%)
Metre 1101011 0111001010 01 111011011 0111111110 101111111101 10010101111 10111100100 101011111 110110111010 01010101 1010010101 1111010111 010110111 1111111 11111101010 100111001101 10100110100 1101111010 110111110 101111101010 00101010111 0111111 1101001110 101 1011011110 10111101101 1111001 11001101 10010101 1001101 101110111 110101101 11100111 111001001 11100111 11010101 1101011001 1101111101 11111 100101001 100101001 10011001 11101011 011010111 11101101 110111111 101111101101 1101011101 110011101 111110111 10011111 1101101001 1101101001 001101001 11111011 11110111 11101011110 110011111 1110101110 11010101111 111101001 1100101111 1111111 0110111101 11001111 11110100100 1011110111 11101111101 111010011 110111111 1111100111 11110111 1101110111 1101111 110101111 1011011111 10110111101 0110101101 11110111 11001101 11101010101 111111111 1110110101 1101111011 0110111001 11111111111 111011101 0011100101 111100101 111010101 1111110101 01011111 111100111 11011111 011111101 10111101 111110111 011101111 0111101
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 4,160
Words 766
Sentences 64
Stanzas 16
Stanza Lengths 3, 22, 2, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 6, 1
Lines Amount 100
Letters per line (avg) 32
Words per line (avg) 8
Letters per stanza (avg) 200
Words per stanza (avg) 47
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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on April 07, 2023

3:56 min read
139

Robert Browning

Robert Browning was the father of poet Robert Browning. more…

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