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As the being duped by others’ lying.
But halt! that last word’s out of place:
In dealing with such ticklish matter
As revelation is and grace,
Bards should be careful how they chatter,
If they must risk it, taste bids hedge and
For certain words put “myth” or “legend.”
The bagmen, then, of Rome’s bottega
Who tooted the Hibernian shanty,
Finding a clientèla eager
To swallow bait, however scanty,
Formed it a myth, the wily dupers;—
In fact, they “legended” like troopers
Of how their holy father lay
A prisoner in the Vatican,
And scarcely saw the light of day
Within his dungeon’s narrow span;
Of how he slept upon a pallet
Of mouldy straw, and had no valet.
And how, in spite of this, he prayed
For those vile tyrants who afflicted him,
When, for their wickedness, instead,
He might have banned and interdicted ’em;
A course which would have had for certain
Such dire results I drop the curtain.
Now if some reader with a temper
Not formed for treating questions moral
Protest, I merely note, “Sic semper
Erat, sic est, sic erit,”—quarrel
With fact: ’tis vain; religion’s cradle
Has always been a legend-ladle.
Why were these modern “legend” spinners
