Odour of blood when Christ was slain Made all platonic tolerance vain And vain all Doric discipline.

Mock mockers after that That would not lift a hand maybe To help good, wise or great To bar that foul storm out, for we Traffic in mockery.

Everything that man esteems Endures a moment or a day. Love's pleasure drives his love away, The painter's brush consumes his dreams.

Come let us mock at the good That fancied goodness might be gay, And sick of solitude Might proclaim a holiday: Wind shrieked- and where are they?

Interea non cessant uncinata nudorum tela, quibus miserrimi cives de muris tracti solo allidebantur.

Its typical of Mexico, of the whole human race perhaps - violence in favour of an ideal and then the ideal lost but the violence just going on.

From the humanitarian idylls of the eighteenth century to the bloodstained gallows the way leads directly; and the executioners of today, as everyone knows, ar…