Gilk
G ILK is sincere. He lets no chance get by
To tell me so, and I've no doubt he is.
Deceit moulds not nor moves that osseous phiz,
Nor ever fancy lights that opaque eye:
No bone, unhelped of brain; creates a lie.
Saints fall, and stars; erratic comets whiz
Through space; but that dead rectitude of his
Will never fail till mummies chirp and fly.
Such virtue blights my nature worse than crime—
Gilk makes me long to scream and plunge in sin!
I'd sooner writhe, outcast of Hope and Time,
Brain-sick, midst nether Hell's most impious din,
Than sit and hold Gilk's hand beside the throne,
A fellow-angel to that godly bone!
To tell me so, and I've no doubt he is.
Deceit moulds not nor moves that osseous phiz,
Nor ever fancy lights that opaque eye:
No bone, unhelped of brain; creates a lie.
Saints fall, and stars; erratic comets whiz
Through space; but that dead rectitude of his
Will never fail till mummies chirp and fly.
Such virtue blights my nature worse than crime—
Gilk makes me long to scream and plunge in sin!
I'd sooner writhe, outcast of Hope and Time,
Brain-sick, midst nether Hell's most impious din,
Than sit and hold Gilk's hand beside the throne,
A fellow-angel to that godly bone!
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