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AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.
We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.
We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.
With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.
When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."
On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."
In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."
Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.
As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;
And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!
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Пройдя через тысячи жизней, веков расцвет и распад,
Я каждому Богу Рынка справлял надлежащий обряд,
Сквозь пальцы следя за ними. Паденье сменяло успех,
Но Боги Азбучных Истин переживали их всех.
Нам являясь во время ́оно, говорили (а Бог не солжет):
Вода ощутимо студена, огонь ощутимо жжет –
Но нет в них Прозренья, Подъема, бедны Всеохватным Умом,
Пусть уж учат Горилл – пока мы шагаем Великим Путем.
Мы спешили по слову Духа, а они не привыкли к бегам –
Не туч порожденье, не ветра (что свойственно Рынка Богам) –
Нас догоняли на марше, и тут же – вся недолѓа –
"Во льдах вымерзает племя, и в Риме – ни очага..."
С Надеждами нашего Мира им было не по пути,
Твердили – Луна не из Сыра, даже Творога там не найти;
На Мечтах, мол, в Даль не уедешь, и Крыльев нет у Свиней…
Но по сердцу нам – Боги Рынка, и им, конечно, видней.
Не они ли в Кембрийскую Эру сулили блаженство нам:
Мечи переделай в орала – и мир придет к племенам?
Мы послушались. Нас связали – и отдали на убой,
А Боги Истин сказали: "Хоть Дьявол – да Дьявол свой".
На камне Первого Храма – Знак Любви был изображен,
И мы полюбили соседей, потом полюбили их жен.
Наши женщины стали бесплодны, мы веру оставили впредь,
И сказали нам Боги Истин: "За Грех Воздаяние – Смерть".
Объявлено в Эру Карбона: пришла изобилья пора,
Плати за всеобщего Павла, Петра лишив серебра.
Пусть денег стало без счета – еды не купить окрест,
А Боги Истин сказали: "Не трудящийся да не ест".
И дрогнули Боги Рынка, пропали их говоруны,
Смирились сердца самых дерзких – ведь истины были верны:
Не Всё, что Сияет – Злато, Четыре есть Дважды Два;
И Боги Истин, хромая, свои повторяют слова:
Так было, так есть, так будет – для тех, кто с деревьев слез,
Ясны лишь четыре вещи с тех пор, как пошел Прогресс:
Пес возвратится к Блевоте, Боров вернется в Грязь,
Дурак обожженный палец вновь сунет в Огонь, скривясь,
И когда обустроится Социум, и проявит новую прыть,
И вознаградит за присутствие, а за грех не заставит платить –
Сказать, что Вода студена, что жар идет от Огня,
Вернутся к нам Боги Истин. И снова пойдет резня.
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