And once again there gathered a scarce heard Whisper among them; as it were, the stirr'd Ashes of some all but extinguisht Tongue, Which mine ear kindled into living Word. XCI Said one among them--"Surely not in vain, My substance from the common Earth was ta'en, That He who subtly wrought me into Shape Should stamp me back to shapeless Earth again?" XCII Another said--"Why, ne'er a peevish Boy Would break the Cup from which he drank in Joy; Shall He that of His own free Fancy made The Vessel, in an after-rage destroy!" XCIII None answer'd this; but after silence spake Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make; "They sneer at me for leaning all awry; What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?" XCIV Thus with the Dead as with the Living, _What_? And _Why_? so ready, but the _Wherefor_ not, One on a sudden peevishly exclaim'd, "Which is the Potter, pray, and which the Pot?" XCV Said one--"Folks of a surly Master tell, And daub his Visage with the Smoke of Hell; They talk of some sharp Trial of us--Pish! He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well." XCVI "Well," said another, "Whoso will, let try, My Clay with long oblivion is gone dry: But fill me with the old familiar Juice, Methinks I might recover by-and-by!" XCVII So while the Vessels one by one were speaking, One spied the little Crescent all were seeking: And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother! Now for the Porter's shoulder-knot a-creaking!" * * * * * XCVIII Ah, with the Grape my fading Life provide, And wash my Body whence the Life has died, And lay me, shrouded in the living Leaf, By some not unfrequented Garden-side. XCIX Whither resorting from the vernal Heat Shall Old Acquaintance Old Acquaintance greet, Under the Branch that leans above the Wall To shed his Blossom over head and feet. C Then ev'n my buried Ashes such a snare Of Vintage shall fling up into the Air, As not a True-believer passing by But shall be overtaken unaware. CI Indeed the Idols I have loved so long Have done my credit in Men's eye much wrong: Have drown'd my Glory in a shallow Cup And sold my Reputation for a Song. CII Indeed, indeed, Repentance oft before I swore--but was I sober when I swore? And then and then came Spring, and Rose-in-hand My thread-bare Penitence apieces tore. CIII And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel, And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour--Well, I often wonder what the Vintners buy One-half so precious as the ware they sell. CIV