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<title>Palace of humbug. [Poem].  ...: a machine readable transcription.</title>
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<amcolname>Lewis Carroll Scrapbook, Library of Congress
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<resp>Selected and converted.</resp>
<name>American Memory, Library of Congress.
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<publicationstmt><p>Washington, DC, 2003.</p>
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<sourcecol>Rare Book & Special Collections Division, Library of Congress.</sourcecol>
<copyright>Public Domain</copyright>
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<projectdesc><p>The National Digital Library Program at the Library of Congress makes digitized historical materials available for education and scholarship.</p>
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<editorialdecl><p>This transcription is intended to have an accuracy rate of 99.95 percent or greater and is not intended to reproduce the appearance of the original work. The accompanying images provide a facsimile of this work and represent the appearance of the original.</p>
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<encodingdate>2004/05/18</encodingdate>
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<p>THE PALACE OF HUMBUG.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls,&rdquo;<lb>
And each damp thing that creeps and crawls<lb>
Went wobble-wobble on the walls.</p>

<p>Faint odours of departed cheese,<lb>
Born on the dank unwholesome breeze,<lb>
Awoke the never-ending sneeze.</p>

<p>Strange pictures decked the arras drear,<lb>
Strange characters of woe and fear,<lb>
The Humbugs of the social sphere,</p>

<p>One showed a vain and noisy prig,<lb>
That thundered empty words and big<lb>
At him that nodded in a wig.</p>

<p>And one, a dotard grim and gray,<lb>
Who wasteth childhood&apos;s happy day<lb>
In work more profitless than play.</p>

<p>Whose icy breast no pity warms,<lb>
Whose little victims cower in swarms,<lb>
And slowly sob on lower forms.</p>

<p>And one, a green thyme-honoured Bank,<lb>
Where flowers are growing wild and rank,<lb>
Like weeds that fringe a poisoned tank.</p>

<p>All birds of evil omen there<lb>
Flood with rich song the tainted air,<lb>
The witless wanderer to snare.</p>

<p>The fatal notes neglected fall;<lb>
No creature heeds the treacherous call,<lb>
For all those goodly <hi rend="italics">strawn baits pall</hi>.</p>

<p>The wandering phantom broke and fled;<lb>
Straightway, I saw within my head<lb>
A vision of a ghostly bed.</p>


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<p>Where lay two worn decrepit men,<lb>
The fictions of a lawyers pen,<lb>
Who nevermore might breathe again.</p>

<p>The serving man of Richard Roe<lb>
Wept, inarticulate with woe,<lb>
She wept, that waited on John Doe.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, rouse,&rdquo; I urged, &ldquo;the waning sense<lb>
With tales of tangled evidence.&rdquo;<lb>
Of suit, demurer, and defence.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Vain,&rdquo; she replied, &ldquo;such mockeries;<lb>
For morbid fancies, such as these,<lb>
No suits can suit, no plea can please.&rdquo;</p>

<p>And bending o&apos;er that man of straw,<lb>
She cried in grief and sudden awe,<lb>
(Not inappropriately) &ldquo;Law!&rdquo;</p>

<p>The old familiar voice he knew;<lb>
He smiled; he faintly muttered &ldquo;Sue!&rdquo;<lb>
(Her very name was legal too.)</p>

<p>The night was fled; the dawn was nigh,<lb>
A hurricane went raving by,<lb>
And swept the vision from mine eye.</p>

<p>Vanished that drear and ghostly bed;<lb>
(The hangings, tape, the tape was red,)<lb>
&apos;Tis past, and Doe and Roe are dead!</p>

<p>Oh yet my spirit inly crawls,<lb>
What time it shudderingly recalls<lb>
That horrid dream of marble halls!</p>

<p>B. B.,<lb>
Ch. Ch.</p>


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