Good God! old man, just think of it! I've stood, With brains and honesty, some five-and-twenty Long years as champion of all that's good, And taken on the mazzard thwacks a-plenty. Yet now whose praises do the people bawl? Those of the fellows whom I live to maul! Why, this is odd!--the more I try to talk Of you the more my tongue grows egotistic To prattle of myself! I'll try to balk Its waywardness and be more altruistic. So let us speak of others--how they sin, And what a devil of a state they 're in! That's all I have to say. Good-bye, old man. Next year you possibly may find me scolding-- Or miss me altogether: Nature's plan Includes, as I suppose, a final folding Of these poor empty hands. Then drop a tear To think they'll never box another ear. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Shapes of Clay, by Ambrose Bierce