He will be perfect. All he contradicts
Who speak to him, and will not let them lift
A finger. Little love he hath for those
Who speak with candor, but he's very fond
Of liars, and always bids them come to him.
"My childhood was so pampered!" he remarks,
And flies into a passion if one doubts.
He only lives on semolina coarse,
And empty is his paunch, all slack and limp.
Yet every day he tells you how he's dined.