Page:Poems, Emerson, 1847.djvu/174

162 There is no mask but he will wear;

He invented oaths to swear;

He paints, he carves, he chants, he prays,

And holds all stars in his embrace,

Godlike,—but 'tis for his fine pelf,

The social quintessence of self.

Well said I he is hypocrite,

And folly the end of his subtle wit!

He takes a sovran privilege

Not allowed to any liege;

For he does go behind all law,

And right into himself does draw;

For he is sovereignly allied,—

Heaven's oldest blood flows in his side,—

And interchangeably at one

With every king on every throne,

That no god dare say him nay,

Or see the fault, or seen betray:

He has the Muses by the heart,

And the Parcæ all are of his part.