The Exhibition

This truth, this mighty truth — if truth can shine
In the smooth polish of a laboured line —
Catcott by sad experience testifies;
And who shall tell a sabled priest he lies?
Bred to the juggling of the specious band
Predestinated to adorn the land,
The selfish Catcott ripened to a priest,
And wore the sable livery of the Beast.
By birth to prejudice and whim allied,
And heavy with hereditary pride,
He modelled pleasure by a fossil ride,
And spent his youth to prove himself a fool;
Buried existence in a lengthened cave,
And lost in dreams whatever Nature gave.