 | The collected works of Ambrose Bierce |  |
116
A RETORT
As vicious women think all men are knaves,And shrew-bound gentlemen discourse of slaves;
As reeling drunkards judge the world unsteady,
And idlers swear employers ne'er get ready—
Thieves that the constable stole all they had,
The mad that all except themselves are mad;
So, in another's clear escutcheon shown,
Barnes rails at stains reflected from his own;
Prates of “docility,” nor feels the dark
Ring round his neck—the Ralston collar mark.
Back, man, to studies interrupted once,
Ere yet the rogue had sunk into the dunce—
Back, back to Yale! and, grown with years discreet,
The course a virgin's lust cut short, complete.
Go drink again at the Pierian pool,
And learn at least better to play the fool.
No longer scorn the draught, although the font
Unlike Pactolus, waters not Belmont.
| The collected works of Ambrose Bierce | |