Page 113 of The Song Rising

The Moth and the Madman;

or, the Sad Calamities of War

by Mister Didion Waite, Esq.

O, Readers of Scion, you may well have heard

of a legend’ry Figure of good Written Word—

his Title,White Binder, his Name, Jaxon Hall—

who answers no Summons and suffers no Fool.

Ah! the Mime-Lord almighty of oldMONMOUTH STREET

was the Picture of Poise from his Hair to his Feet!

Observe his good Humor, behold his long Stride,

so spotless a Man must be allLONDON’s Pride!

But would it surprise you to learn, faithful Reader,

why just such a Fellow could not be our Leader?

One ruinous Year, this Wordsmith decided

that all Voyant-kind should be cruelly divided.

Some called him a Genius! Some called him mad,

some whispered his Writing was terribly bad

(and verily,Didion Waite’s was far better,

superior down to each amorous Letter)—

but all seemed to love him, and after those Trials,

he ruled, drenched in Absinthe, from sweetSEVEN DIALS.

O, and even as Binder sought seven greatSeals,

he grew deaf to his Gutterlings’ wretched appeals!

When cruel, od’rousHectorwas found with no Head,

this good Mime-Lord fin’lly sprang up from his Bed.

He danced in theROSE RINGand fought for the Crown

and his Enemies great and small were cut down.

But close to the End, with a Victory certain,

a daring young Challenger swept through the Curtain!

And lo, who was she, butBlack Motharising,

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