“to beguile the time look like the time look like th’ innocent flower but be the serpent under’t.”
William Shakespeare’s Lady Macbeth, Macbeth
Beguile me and riddle me rot, ‘for the ink drips dry the blot
Plause’ me some crank to twitch round the rack and ply with whip to crack
Grindstone to grain and animal to pain as mores are to ground
Pleasure we mete the angels we greet, heav’n revere the sound
Of warning the ghost drivel and boast the horn the ram’s-head blare
Hollow the rolling beast, lie-leavened yeast ‘stead air