The House of Pleasure

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
In the house of pleasure, none is denied
For all of its truths must be ratified
In letter, for those who cannot decide
But waver, wavering on what is implied
In pleasure itself, for there on its side
Are written things blasphemous, snide
And all the bodies there for it died
All in a jest, are you so serious, it cried
And he wonders, if it had really lied
For what was a slope fast became a slide
Have you heard of its way, so easy and wide
Down-going humility, the publican sighed
But there are so many bones, can you divide
The quick from the dead, with everything dried
Even its form has ceased where it tried
To be pleasure at all,  but a suicide
So out - and away from all reason we glide
Thought into nothing; desire into pride.

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