1.
Coming Out in Heavy Worshipf

ow. . . . . .  n that day long sufferd when there lay wild sorcerers all in the whole earth, and the pesterd feet of men trod paths amongst the dungs of preternatcherol beasts,

            And Scog went alongby a certain place where an unplannd palsy fell him o’er, and he went prostrate at the foot of Karbong the idol which was there.  And in that hour he cried with a loud voice, saying, O unmarriable Mercymonger, Sneerer Who slammeth souls, Whose killings in wrath can not be calld murder:  I am Scog, made forth outen Scrawyabb, tho many there be among Thy faithful who call me Fillobastchen of Jerrosohalf, the same which is perisht of polebrain at the walls of Deal these past yea-yea semestren, where he was smat low with a pole in a skirmish for purse.  These things all, according to the Plan.  Or a plan.

            But there is a better thing which also I am callt (saith Scogg; for a vanity did claim him in his rapture, and favord him an occasien for presenting airs).  Some fair many call me Solomon,

2

            So, then (saith Scog).  Et bon.  Now.  Attending idol, hearken unto all these miseries which I exclaim, and give me fix.  Backe there in old Smott (yea, most say Scrawyabb­—I say it also Smott, by jape of irreverense) they did delight in mine expertsia more than lov-ed they the burbly goos & chortles of their own begotten babes.  Celebrated they my talent with title:  Curser of Buzzards entitled they me. Curser of Buzzards.  How goode!

            E’en so (saith Scogh).  Yet, in olde Smotte these days, show me a living buzzord for to curse and I will sculpt for Thee a great gay alabaster mistress with gilded gams.  I will feign sanity, I will remit up delinqent taxes, I will go trucking love to a mother that thew me out.  For I have curst the buzzards outen their skins o’er yon.  And neither more doth buzzard fly, nor peck for flesh, nor dwell in any wise in the valley of Scrawyabb Smott.  For I have curst them outen their skin, extruding them right thru its pores, out into the stinging salt of the earth.

            In a place having no more buzzerds (saith Scog), what bizniss hath a man like as all this I am?  No bizniss there!  I swear, I cried when they tolt me.  That splendid prosperity I had knewn, it hath dasht away in bulk.

            But then was I not saved by those whom I had pleas-ed?  Sure, they thoght them selfs fabulis to remembre me in their charities, blessing me with menial employ.  For they set me to scratching publick backs at open lavat’ry, and made of me a balmdabber of butt pustules and other pustules.  From these low pursuits have I now ceast in a sort of sickend ire, as my mind is in the sky.  Hence burst I forth hither upon this land where dwell robbers, a king, and buzzards & such.  ’Tis to me a second birth, or e’en higher, and I am full of aspirasien.

            And after these revelatiens pitcht he about with spittol at his mouth, there before Karbong the idol.  And he cried & thrasht & rolld, and so outdid all possibol worshippers that none who pass-ed dared drop and vie.

            But, what may any god receive from one who hath studied no substance?  For Scog pitch-ed so, that his foot smat agaynst that hallowd grouted farfetchlin.  And the big rock rockt from the blow, that the very head of Karbong fell off and brake upon the ground.  And lo, enormis pieces rollt aroundabout, and some of them gone acrashing through beggars’ campfs neath the knoll.  And Scog lifted his head and opent an eye, and he rase circumspeckily and went upon his way.

            Now the sculptor Varostril, which was the ensculpter of Karbong, came thither and thwackend to pieces the idol with his staff; and his staff did number twelve fullbeard potters and some grime-ed apprentices.  And they manofaxurd target-tiles outen the waste of Karbong, saying, The item never sold, even with an head upon’t.  What idol-buying purchaser prince might now roll out his gold for this headless vestige, reckoning his people no less ready to trembol before a god that cud not keep his head?  Purple swatheth no such fool.