Before
I.
Let
them
fight
it
out,
friend!
things
have
gone
too
far.
God
must
judge
the
couple:
leave
them
as
they
are
—-Whichever
one's
the
guiltless,
to
his
glory,
And
whichever
one
the
guilt's
with,
to
my
story!
II.
Why,
you
would
not
bid
men,
sunk
in
such
a
slough,
Strike
no
arm
out
further,
stick
and
stink
as
now,
Leaving
right
and
wrong
to
settle
the
embroilment,
Heaven
with
snaky
hell,
in
torture
and
entoilment?
III.
Who's
the
culprit
of
them?
How
must
he
conceive
God—-the
queen
he
caps
to,
laughing
in
his
sleeve,
``
'Tis
but
decent
to
profess
oneself
beneath
her:
``Still,
one
must
not
be
too
much
in
earnest,
either!''
IV.
Better
sin
the
whole
sin,
sure
that
God
observes;
Then
go
live
his
life
out!
Life
will
try
his
nerves,
When
the
sky,
which
noticed
all,
makes
no
disclosure,
And
the
earth
keeps
up
her
terrible
composure.
V.
Let
him
pace
at
pleasure,
past
the
walls
of
rose,
Pluck
their
fruits
when
grape-trees
graze
him
as
he
goes!
For
he
'gins
to
guess
the
purpose
of
the
garden,
With
the
sly
mute
thing,
beside
there,
for
a
warden.
VI.
What's
the
leopard-dog-thing,
constant
at
his
side,
A
leer
and
lie
in
every
eye
of
its
obsequious
hide?
When
will
come
an
end
to
all
the
mock
obeisance,
And
the
price
appear
that
pays
for
the
misfeasance?
VII.
So
much
for
the
culprit.
Who's
the
martyred
man?
Let
him
bear
one
stroke
more,
for
be
sure
he
can!
He
that
strove
thus
evil's
lump
with
good
to
leaven,
Let
him
give
his
blood
at
last
and
get
his
heaven!
VIII.
All
or
nothing,
stake
it!
Trust
she
God
or
no?
Thus
far
and
no
farther?
farther?
be
it
so!
Now,
enough
of
your
chicane
of
prudent
pauses,
Sage
provisos,
sub-intents
and
saving-clauses!
IX.
Ah,
``forgive''
you
bid
him?
While
God's
champion
lives,
Wrong
shall
be
resisted:
dead,
why,
he
forgives.
But
you
must
not
end
my
friend
ere
you
begin
him;
Evil
stands
not
crowned
on
earth,
while
breath
is
in
him.
X.
Once
more—-Will
the
wronger,
at
this
last
of
all,
Dare
to
say,
``I
did
wrong,''
rising
in
his
fall?
No?—-Let
go
then!
Both
the
fighters
to
their
places!
While
I
count
three,
step
you
back
as
many
paces!
Robert Browning
Robert Browning (born May 7, 1812, London—died Dec. 12, 1889, Venice) major English poet of the Victorian age, noted for his mastery of dramatic monologue and psychological portraiture. His most noted work was The Ring and the Book (1868–69), the story of a Roman murder trial in 12 books. Through all the vicissitudes of critical reputation, however, Browning’s major contribution to the canon of children’s literature, “The Pied Piper of Hamelin,” has retained its popular audience. At the time of his death in 1889, he was one of the most popular poets in England.