LUCIFER’S LABORATORY.
SURROUNDED by bottles and flagons and bowls,
To the music of shrieks from perishing souls,
Holding a lurid and snake-wreathed flask,
The Devil pursued his terrible task.
Hatred and lust, and all the horde
Of hell’s worst vices into it he poured,
And when it was brimming with fever and sin,
He took the bottle and labelled it GIN.
Another flask in his hand he raised
And the flame of his breath round the crystal blazed,
As he filled it with murder, suicide, theft,
Orphans fatherless, wives bereft,
Doses of poverty, doses of crime,
For every region, for every clime,
And the noisiest imps round his throne were dumb
As he took the bottle and labelled it RUM.
And then a barrel he seized to fill
With grief and affliction, pain and ill;
Stupor, the brain of mankind to dim;
Coma, to palsy the heart and limb;
Draughts, the senses to cloud and clog
Till God’s image became but a senseless log,
And the devil’s lips were twined in a leer
As he took that barrel and labelled it BEER.
The fiends laughed loud in rapturous mirth
As he scattered his mixtures around the earth.
And whiteskin, and blackskin, and redskin quaffed,
North, South, East, West, the poisonous draught.
And the demon yell as each toper fell,
Voiced the chorus, “Another recruit for hell!
Hurrah for the triumph of Satan and sin,
Brought about by the conquest of whiskey and gin!”
THE MONOPOLIST’S MOAN.
AM I waking or sleeping, in Congress or bed?
Do I stand on my feet? am I poised on my head?
Has the world gone to smash? is it chaos that reigns?
Or have I somehow lost a grip of my brains?
There’s something gone wrong which I cannot make out,
The people don’t know what on earth they’re about;
There is woe in our camp and dismay in our tents,
For no longer we rule with our dollars and cents.
Has the crispy bank-note lost its wonderful powers?
Are the lives and the souls of the people not ours?
Fame’s ladder saw us on the top, and you know
That muscle and brain were contented below;
Leastways, if they murmured, a handful of gold
Could buy up the weak or could crush out the bold,
For a very small gift from our riches contents
The outcast who hasn’t got dollars and cents.
But now there’s a muttering startling and strange
From the lowermost depths, a demand for a change,
A really absurd and ridiculous plan
To ostracize gold and to dignify man;
The base common herd won’t submit any more
To a rule that their fathers found proper before,
And the veriest scum of the gutters invents
Ideas obnoxious to dollars and cents.