Julian Malaspada to the False Hippolytus

Thou living Riddle, art thou he or not?

Thou art his image, such as it might be

Within the looking-glass; and if not he,

Who else, who else, thou breathing walking plot?

And yet why seek? The golden coin I got

For one I lost, is worth as much to me

If it be stamped alike, and if I see

No difference even in the smallest dot.

Ay, but if underneath that semblance lies

A base and stinking metal? If the mould

Be self-same, but the coin no longer buys?

What if the fair appearance I behold

Were lined with murder? Something in his eyes,

When I would probe them, makes my blood run cold.