A Service to the God of Commerce

Who Do You Serve? - III

Shattered on the dry stones, tattered by the hedges of enclosure,
The ragged mongrels of society appear to mock
The pomp and pageantry
Of prosperous reign upon a happy isle.
And from the wilderness that lies outside the walls
Come outcasts seeking, like foxes
As they near the well-stocked roost.

Methinks the modest village in its giving o'er to Commerce thus
Brings fire to the altar of the god thereof.
'Tis Mercury, quicksilver god of coin's exchange and flow,
And of intelligence conveyed with speed and wit --
Not always kind, yet ever deft and expeditious --
The god of tricksters, fools and miscreants --
'Tis he that rules the Marketplace.
How then could it be otherwise? The ritual evokes
The shadows with the light.

The gleam of coin, of gold and silver, thus draws brass
As also steel and iron and baser metals yet.
So mark you mercenaries everywhere,
Merchants of many wares and services, vendors of pleasure,
Or of power, or of precious symbols
Of an empty virtue;
They gather to the call of Faire.