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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