They prance about like Englishmen at play,
And act like nothing matters on the stage,
Except to make one feel that life is gay,
While puppets dance and hide the wars they wage.
Magicians wave hallucinated flags
Of colors bright — The Red and White and Blue,
They spin their yarns and chuckle at their gags,
Artists of change concealing colors true.
Yet, skilled as pipers leading sheep astray,
They trip up on their own chicanery.
Their game of swapping togas to dismay
The one when music stops stands nakedly.
This con of shells is great but for a spell,
‘Til tricks are seen, and then does toll the bell.