'HE holds a pistol to my head, <br />Swearing he will shoot me dead, <br />If he have not my purse instead, <br />The robber!' <br />'He, with the lash of wealth and power, <br />Flogs out my heart and flings the dower, <br />The sneering pittance of his hour, <br />The robber!' <br />'He shakes his serpent tongue that lies, <br />Wins trust for poisoned sophistries, <br />And stabs me in the dark, and flies, <br />The assassin!' <br />'He pits me in the dreadful fight <br />Against my fellow. Then he quite <br />Strips both his victims in the night, <br />The assassin!'<br /><br />Francis William Lauderdale Adams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/parallels-for-the-pious/
