Explore "By False Pretenses" by Ambrose Bierce on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
John S. Hittell, whose sovereign genius wields / The quill his tributary body yields; / The author of an opera -- that is, / All but the music and libretto's his: / A work renowned, whose formidable name, / Linked with his own, repels the assault of fame / From the high vantage of a dusty shelf, / Secure from all the world except himself; -- / Who told the tale of "Culture" in a screed / That all might understand if some would read; -- / Master of poesy and lord of prose, / Dowered, like a setter, with a double nose; / That one for Erato, for Clio this; / He flushes both -- not his fault if we miss; -- / Judge of the painter's art, who'll straight proclaim / The hue of any color you can name, / And knows a painting with a canvas back / Distinguished from a duck by the duck's quack; -- / This thinker and philosopher, whose work / Is famous from Commercial street to Turk, / Has got a fortune now, his talent's meed.
A woman left it him who could not read, / And so went down to death's eternal night / Sweetly unconscious that the wretch could write.