 | The collected works of Ambrose Bierce |  |
THE TALE OF A CRIME
Once, in the olden time, a certain King
(But where he reigned I know not) said: “Go bring
My Chief Adviser here before the throne,
And cut his head off clear down to the bone!”
“With pleasure, Sire,” said—keen to earn his wage—
The High Dissuader from the Sin of Age;
“But kings should still be civil, even when just:
You'll charge the villain with some crime, I trust?”
(But where he reigned I know not) said: “Go bring
My Chief Adviser here before the throne,
And cut his head off clear down to the bone!”
“With pleasure, Sire,” said—keen to earn his wage—
The High Dissuader from the Sin of Age;
“But kings should still be civil, even when just:
You'll charge the villain with some crime, I trust?”
“Why, that's no more than fair,” the King replied.
They brought the culprit in, securely tied,
And the King said: “Let some one who can read
Stand forward and unfold the Golden Screed,
Bright with the names of all the sins and crimes
And vices ever known from ancient times.
We'll fit the fellow for the headsman's prank
With one appropriate to his face and rank.”
They brought the culprit in, securely tied,
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Stand forward and unfold the Golden Screed,
Bright with the names of all the sins and crimes
And vices ever known from ancient times.
We'll fit the fellow for the headsman's prank
With one appropriate to his face and rank.”
In drowsy monotone the Lector read
The shining list, beginning at the head.
(Lèse majesté was naturally first—
Of crimes conceivable, the blackest, worst!)
As each was named the prisoner addressed
The throne and, as the law compelled, confessed.
'Twas fatal not to: in that olden day
Little was heard about the law's delay.
The shining list, beginning at the head.
(Lèse majesté was naturally first—
Of crimes conceivable, the blackest, worst!)
As each was named the prisoner addressed
The throne and, as the law compelled, confessed.
'Twas fatal not to: in that olden day
Little was heard about the law's delay.
But still the royal taste could find for him
No crime well suited to the royal whim,
And, wearied by the reader's droning voice,
The sovereign fell asleep, nor made a choice—
Snored like an organ till the stones were jarred
Distinguishing the palace from the yard.
Meantime, the accused continued to confess,
Each nod said “guilty” and each look said “yes.”
No crime well suited to the royal whim,
And, wearied by the reader's droning voice,
The sovereign fell asleep, nor made a choice—
Snored like an organ till the stones were jarred
Distinguishing the palace from the yard.
Meantime, the accused continued to confess,
Each nod said “guilty” and each look said “yes.”
And still the monarch slept: each courtier feared
To wake him lest himself should “lose his beard.”
('Twas a fine euphemism, and meant his head—
Some things for prudence are obliquely said.)
“Finis,” the reader said, and roundabout
Fell silence like a loud awakening shout!
The startled sovereign left a snore half-snored—
“That's what the scoundrel's guilty of!” he roared.
To wake him lest himself should “lose his beard.”
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Some things for prudence are obliquely said.)
“Finis,” the reader said, and roundabout
Fell silence like a loud awakening shout!
The startled sovereign left a snore half-snored—
“That's what the scoundrel's guilty of!” he roared.
So there before the king upon his throne
They cut his head off clean down to the bone!
And all the devils made a joyous din
To celebrate the new and lovely sin.
They cut his head off clean down to the bone!
And all the devils made a joyous din
To celebrate the new and lovely sin.
| The collected works of Ambrose Bierce | |