Seraphic Deviltry lyrics

Whether He the quaint savant`s power doth hold I know not,
Albeit ?tat a thousand stars` birth He is -
Quoth I that for reasons to me oblivious
August of a granditude of servants is He held,
And by plastic consonantry e`en more servants to the host add?d are -
Pelf they are, dare I say!
Maugre His diurnal seraphic deviltry
I say that deviltry - `tis forsooth deviltry! -
Mind not this in scintillating shades clad is;
To claim the glore is He suffer`d.
«Grant me the fatlings», qouth He, «the fatter the better!»,
And died they of starvation;
They are not slaughtering their fatlings -
They are slaughtering `hemselves.
Sith I at time of yester the questions durst ask,
And dare I say this burthen weightful was,
Wrack of His machine-like motion was I nam?d,
Tho` blind and fond the jesters rebuilt
The machine alike - yet whett?d and dight are its edges