The Alchemist - Poem by Christopher Shepheard
He fornicates with science and slowly
Takes a ring from every finger
Pawning his conceit
For a coin.
His lord declines to hurry the muse:
The fool believes that scribbling and chance
Will fuse together into burning gold
To ease his dotage.
The cynic alchemist resides above
In a privy turret, secure, and sleeps
Or doodles with his bubbling pot
And pulls a face.
He throws a coin into the molten lead
To show his lord a trace and keep him sweet,
So, by a surer path than any science
He gathers wealth
And like a mocking whore
He torments to decline,
Arousing the desires of men
In any man, for a coin.
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