Page:Ferishtah's fancies - Browning (1884).djvu/62

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FERISHTAH'S FANCIES.
"Attributes?Faugh!—nay, Ferishtah,—’tis an ulcer, think!Attributes, quotha? Here's poor flesh and blood,Like thine and mine and every man's, a preyTo hell-fire! Hast thou lost thy wits for once?"
"Friend, here they are to find and profit by!Put pain from out the world, what room were leftFor thanks to God, for love to Man? Why thanksExcept for some escape, whate'er the style,From pain that might be, name it as thou mayst?Why love,—when all thy kind, save me, suppose,Thy father—and thy son—and . . well, thy dog,To eke the decent number out—we fewWho happen—like a handful of chance stars
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