LXXXVI.

 After a momentary silence spake
 Some Vessel of a more ungainly Make;
   "They sneer at me for leaning all awry:
 What! did the Hand then of the Potter shake?"


LXXXVII.

 Whereat some one of the loquacious Lot--
 I think a Sufi pipkin--waxing hot--
   "All this of Pot and Potter--Tell me then,
 Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?"


LXXXVIII.

 "Why," said another, "Some there are who tell
 Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell
   The luckless Pots he marr'd in making--Pish!
 He's a Good Fellow, and 'twill all be well."


LXXXIX.

 "Well," murmured one, "Let whoso make or buy,
 My Clay with long Oblivion is gone dry:
   But fill me with the old familiar Juice,
 Methinks I might recover by and by."


XC.

 So while the Vessels one by one were speaking,
 The little Moon look'd in that all were seeking:
   And then they jogg'd each other, "Brother! Brother!
 Now for the Porter's shoulders' knot a-creaking!"