It is man’s nature here to so deceive,

Success bestowing sly, propitious pleasures;

For by slick wit alone he can receive

Grand benefits where work is not the measure.

For many, falsehood is but deemed a ‘fib’,

For some prevarication plays as art;

Perhaps from Eve evolved the term to ‘rib’

For every truth is yet untrue in part.

Deceit, assured, takes many different forms

For lies alone may save a true man’s life—

The poor may dupe for food or clothes to warm,

Young men may gull to bed a future wife.

Both truth and falsehood yield their consequence,

Yet prize alone oft dictates the assent.