Theatre Of Tragedy - Seraphic Deviltry
Whether He The Quaint Savant's Power Doth Hold I Know Not,
Albeit ætat A Thousand Stars' Birth He Is -
Quoth I That For Reasons To Me Oblivious
August Of A Granditude Of Servants Is He Held,
And By Plastic Consonantry E'en More Servants To The Host Addéd Are -
Pelf They Are, Dare I Say!
Maugre His Diurnal Seraphic Deviltry
I Say That Deviltry - 'tis Forsooth Deviltry! -
Mind Not This In Scintillating Shades Clad Is;
To Claim The Glore Is He Suffer'd.
«grant Me The Fatlings», Qouth He, «the Fatter The Better!»,
And Died They Of Starvation;
They Are Not Slaughtering Their Fatlings -
They Are Slaughtering 'hemselves.
Sith I At Time Of Yester The Questions Durst Ask,
And Dare I Say This Burthen Weightful Was,
Wrack Of His Machine-like Motion Was I Naméd,
Tho' Blind And Fond The Jesters Rebuilt
The Machine Alike - Yet Whettéd And Dight Are Its Edges
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