No slave at least art thou , on this dull Day
When slaves and knaves throng in Life's banquet-hall! ...
Who listens to thy scornful laugh must say
" Wormwood, tho' bitter, is medicinal!"

Because thou turnest from our Feast of Lies
Where prosperous priests with whores and warriors feed,
Because thy Jester's mask hides loving eyes,
I name thee here, and bid thy work " God speed!"