Thou truly art a half-wit reaching far,
For at wit's end I cover more than half
The breach of reason thou, whose arms be short
And feeble, stretch and fail to span. The gap
Inspires no god to mend, and devil takes
No pain to mark its failure for his ends.
Alone you'd be, if not for me, but I
Am no salvation, bless or curse I might.
For long as my mind's arm may be, it can-
-not grasp your failure thus, preventing your
Delay. Like dino kings' foreshorten'd arm
And much foreshorten'd brain, that even if
Mine arm could span it couldn't bear such weight.
Our Sysyphus thou plays for sport, thou hea-
-vy block of head; go win a race with lead.