The Criers of Untruths, to whom We lend no ear
Have spake at length of late on Our great orat’ry
They protest, now, that Our almighty prose hath no concordance in it’s varied tones.
We state the somber terms, of war, say they,
amid stern temperance with Our generals.
And then, just one day hence, didst We rally
the groundling troops with fiery inspiration.
And, one more day anon, We spake unto
Our brave old warriors with such deep respect.
“Bewitched, is he”, they cry, in fearful spite.
“Such varied decorum and temperament,
comes forth from he, and back to back to back?”
“Is he now possessed of legion spirits?
What per’lous mad affliction could this be?”
Fie upon these villainous fools! Have they no wits at all?
We plan for war and strategize with somber decorum and the counsel of great generals.
And then, yea, even the next day, when visit We Our toiling troops, would We not do well to stir them up with high spirit and frenzy?
And, if, on the third day, We pay Our officers a visit,
would We not bestow Our tribute and gratitude upon them?
If such somber, inspiring, and then respectful tones doth so befuddle them, they should not think on’t. Thus is how it’s done.
We are as highly skilled in such discretion, as they are profoundly wanting in it.
For, while we’ve many themes in our songs of victory. They only know the tone of sure defeat.