YOUR golden dreams, your flattering schemes, Alas! where are they fled, Sir? Your plans deranged, your prospects changed, You now may go to bed, Sir. -- How could you thus, impelled by fear, Give up the hopes of many a year? -- Your fame retriev' d, and soaring high In TRUTH'S resemblance seemed to fly: But now you grow so wondrous wise, You turn, and own that all is -- lies. A fabric that from hell was raised, On which astonished rebels gazed, And which the world shall ne'er forget, No less than RIVINGTON'S GAZETTE, Demolished at a single stroke -- The angel Gabriel might provoke. "That all was lies," might well be true, But why must this be told by you? Great master of the scheming head, Where is thy wonted cunning fled? It was a folly to engage That truth henceforth should fill your page; When you must know, as well as I, Your first great object is -- to LIE. Your fortune was as good as made, Great artist in the fibbing trade! But now I see, with grief and pain, Your credit cannot rise again: No more the favorite of my heart, No more will I my gifts impart. Yet something shall you gain at last For lies contrived in seasons past -- When pressing to the narrow gate I'll show the portal marked by fate, Where all mankind, as preachers say, Are apt to take the wider way, And though the ROYAL Printer swear, Will bolt him in, and keep him there! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 5. THE DANCING GIRL by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE NIGHT MOTHS by EDWIN MARKHAM THE JESTER'S SERMON by GEORGE WALTER THORNBURY NIOBE: THE GODS' CHILDREN by AESCHYLUS THE GRASS STEALERS by J. MURRAY ALLISON PIONEER WOMAN by EVA K. ANGLESBURG |