Black Beetles in Amber - читать онлайн бесплатно полную версию книги . Страница 46

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High Lord of Liars, Pickering, to theeLet meaner mortals bend the subject knee!Thine is mendacity's imperial crown,Alike by genius, action and renown.No man, since words could set a cheek aflameE'er lied so greatly with so little shame!O bad old man, must thy remaining yearsBe passed in leading idiots by their ears—Thine own (which Justice, if she ruled the roastWould fasten to the penitential post)Still wagging sympathetically—hungthe same rocking-bar that bears thy tongue?Thou dog of darkness, dost thou hope to stayTime's dread advance till thou hast had thy day?Dost think the Strangler will release his holdBecause, forsooth, some fibs remain untold?No, no—beneath thy multiplying loadOf years thou canst not tarry on the roadTo dabble in the blood thy leaden feetHave pressed from bosoms that have ceased to beatOf reputations margining thy way,Nor wander from the path new truth to slay.Tell to thyself whatever lies thou wilt,Catch as thou canst at pennies got by guilt—Straight down to death this blessed year thou'lt sink,Thy life washed out as with a wave of ink.But if this prophecy be not fulfilled,And thou who killest patience be not killed;If age assail in vain and vice attackOnly by folly to be beaten back;Yet Nature can this consolation give:The rogues who die not are condemned to live!