 | The heir of the world, and lesser poems |  |
SONNET.
Down to the dust, Cain-branded Liar! down!Wither and rot beneath my blasting curse!
“Than what thou art, I could not wish thee worse,”
Of vice and guilt and infamy the crown!
There is no double baseness not thy own,
No shuffling fraud, or falsehood black as hell;
No sneaking malice that thou know'st not well—
Yes, well as jailors know their victim's groan!
For thou canst lie, in the broad gaze of heaven,
Till calumny seems truth, and still canst wear
Virtue's false mask, and, like a parson, swear
That thou to utter Truth art sorely driven;
But, 'tis thy ‘Christian Duty,’ thou dost say!—
Is Hell then seen amid the blaze of Day?
| The heir of the world, and lesser poems | |