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POET
Depart! elsewhere another servant choose
What! shall the bard his godlike power abuse?
Man's loftiest right, kind nature's high bequest,
For your mean purpose basely sport away?
Whence comes his mastery o'er the human breast,
Whence o'er the elements his sway,
But from the harmony that, gushing from his soul,
Draws back into his heart the wondrous whole?
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Click on comic to enlarge.
Click on comic to enlarge.
How it revolts the genuine artist's mind!
The sorry trash in which these coxcombs deal,
Is here approved on principle, I find.
MANAGER
Such a reproof disturbs me not a whit!
Who on efficient work is bent,
Must choose the fittest instrument.
Consider! 'tis soft wood you have to split;
Think too for whom you write, I pray!
One comes to while an hour away;
One from the festive board, a sated guest;
Others, more dreaded than the rest,
From journal-reading hurry to the play.
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Spin for their eyes abundant occupation,
SO that the multitude may wondering gaze,
You by sheer bulk have won your reputation,
By mass alone can you subdue the masses,
Each then selects in time what suits his bent.
Bring much, you something bring for various classes,
And from the house goes every one content.
You give a piece, abroad in pieces send it!
'Tis a ragout--success most needs attend it;
'Tis easy to serve up, as easy to invent.
A finish'd whole what boots it to present!
Full soon the public will in pieces rend it.
POET
How mean such handicraft as this you cannot feel!
Click on comic for larger image. The Sunday strip was a recap of the action from the previous week, which is to say, nothing has happened.
A sprightly fellow's presence at your play,
Methinks should also count for something too;
Whose genial wit the audience still inspires,
Knows from their changeful mood no angry feeling;
A wider circle he desires,
To their heart's depths more surely thus appealing.
To work, then! Give a master-piece, my friend;
Bring Fancy with her choral trains before us,
Sense, reason, feeling, passion, but attend!
Let folly also swell the tragic chorus.
MANAGER
In chief, of incident enough prepare!
A show they want, they come to gape and stare.
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A failure now, with words now fitly mated,
In the wild tumult of the hour is drown'd;
Full oft the poet's thought for years bath waited
Until at length with perfect form 'tis crowned;
What dazzles, for the moment born, must perish;
What genuine is posterity will cherish.
MERRYMAN
This cant about posterity I hate;
About posterity were I to prate,
Who then the living would amuse? For they
Will have diversion, ay, and 'tis their due.
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POET
Oh of the motley throng speak not before me,
At whose aspect the Spirit wings its flight!
Conceal the surging concourse, I implore thee,
Whose vortex draws us with resistless might.
No, to some peaceful heavenly nook restore me,
Where only for the bard blooms pure delight,
Where love and friendship yield their choicest blessing,
Our heart's true bliss, with god-like hand caressing.
What in the spirit's depths was there created,
What shyly there the lip shaped forth in sound;
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Click on comic to enlarge.
Click on comic to enlarge.
Click on comic to enlarge.
A yearning long unfelt, each impulse swaying,
To yon calm spirit-realm uplifts my soul;
In faltering cadence, as when Zephyr playing,
Fans the Aeolian harp, my numbers roll;
Tear follows tear, my steadfast heart obeying
The tender impulse, loses its control;
What I possess as from afar I see;
Those I have lost become realities to me.
Prologue in the Theatre
MANAGER. DRAMATIC POET. MERRYMAN.
MANAGER
Ye twain, in trouble and distress
True friends whom I so oft have found,
Say, for our scheme on German ground,
What prospect have we of success?
Fain would I please the public, win their thanks;
They live and let live, hence it is but meet.
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I'm filling balloons. Seven Sunday panels gives me lots of balloons.
I ran my final 20 mile training run - 20.09 miles in 3:25:19.90. I will set a new personal record if I can repeat that performance for the marathon on Jan. 31.
Click on cartoon to enlarge.
Sorry about the Comic Sans. I need to download Digital Strip to my home computer. I enlarge the comic strip and then paste text into balloons. I try to fit as much as I can while maintaining readability. I do cheat occasionally by slightly enlarging a balloon to add a bit of white space around the text.
Part of the third verse of Dedication:
Dispersed the throng, their severed flight now winging;
Mute are the voices that responsive rang.
For stranger crowds the Orphean lyre now stringing,
E'en their applause is to my heart a pang;
Of old who listened to my song, glad hearted,
If yet they live, now wander widely parted.
Mary Worth is the work of writer Karen Moy and artist Joe Giella and is owned by King Features Syndicate. All images from the comic strip are owned by King Features. Faust is the work of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and is public domain.
Sorrow revives, her wail of anguish sending
Back o'er life's devious labyrinthine way,
And names the dear ones, they whom Fate bereaving
Of life's fair hours, left me behind them grieving.
They hear me not my later cadence singing,
The souls to whom my earlier lays I sang;
Click on cartoon to enlarge. Picture quality degraded because of enlargement. I don't know why syndicates don't make larger versions available for online venues. Maybe to prevent miscreants from rewriting crappy comics? It takes a larger comic to truly appreciate the care Joe Giella put into rendering Wilbur's comb over.
Click on picture to enlarge. (Click here for the first part)
Click on cartoon to make bigger.
