Photo Courtesy: psychology today
If I a lie shall tell,
Will you, of me, and of my presence hail?
As of his, her, theirs and all's but of me, you do
For my candor shall, curt in your filthy heart brew
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Me, like a madman may you treat
But even your tomb shall spit:
Into your corpse, of you had been a fawner
And of me and my works, decades after, they shall honor
