The Epigraphist's Funeral

(shortly after the decay of learning in Europe)

Come, now and open up this book

Head wet-towel wrapping,

See the Irishman trailing his coat, and look

Out for good scrapping.

Here's fine mixed feeding, juicy bone for dog,

Thick rich cream for puss,

Umbrella his Quixote-lance, tilting on moor and bog,

He made his Corpus.

Though the critics might shout and roar, perplexed,

Yet more he'd fog 'em,

'Granted they have read the plain majuscule text,

Still, there's the Ogam'.

His banner of revolt waved out on high,

Unfurled and fell free,

Gave us the doctrine of the Chalcidic ɸ,

Bats in his belfry.

'1948'

NOTES

• Charles Thomas: 'Written by SP, 1948, after reading critical reviews of RAS Macalister Corpus Inscriptionum insularum celticarum, I, Dublin (1945)—stuck in his copy of it, which he gave me about 1960.' (10-i-1988, returning collected copies of SP's poems which the Eds had sent to him and Jessica, annotated as they remembered with their comments)