Classic Poem

IN THE WHIM OF THE MOMENT

I am the world's epitome,
Look round it, and then say,
Nature and man may sit to me,
Their likeness to pourtray:

As nature, in her motley round,
Oft shifts from day to night,
So sickle main is varying found,
Still changing wrong and right.

The application's prompt and ripe,
I of all nature am the type,
So turn me round,
I shall be found,

From right to left, and left to right,
Look how you will,
To vary still,
From white to black, and black to white.

II.

Do but that learned counsel see,
Who proves that wrong is right,
And presently augment his see,
His argument takes flight:

And now, unswearing what he swore,
The burden of his song
Reverses what he said before,
And proves that right is wrong.

The application's prompt and ripe,
I of that lawyer am the type:
For turn me round, &c.

III.

Behold yon lordly statesman frown,
At mention of a bribe,
As if disgrace it had brought down
On him and all his tribe:

But left behind, he'll instant seize
Upon the well-fill'd sack,
Nor could the strength of Hercules
Have power to get it back.

The application's prompt and ripe,
I of that statesman am the type:
For turn me round, &c.

IV.

When basking in prosperity,
Each friend to serve you burne,
And boasting his sincerity,
The smiling white side turns:

But let uncertain fortune frown,
And take her blessings back,
Instant the friendly white is flown,
And every man looks black.

The application's prompt and ripe,
I of all nature am the type:
For turn me round, &c.