The poem
WHEN Morine, deceas’d, to the Devil went down, ’Twas nothing would serve him but Satan’s own crown; “Thy fool’s head,” quoth Satan, “that crown shall wear never, I grant thou’rt as wicked, but not quite so clever.”
8,657 poems196 poets · 750 BC to todaySince 2003

The poem
WHEN Morine, deceas’d, to the Devil went down, ’Twas nothing would serve him but Satan’s own crown; “Thy fool’s head,” quoth Satan, “that crown shall wear never, I grant thou’rt as wicked, but not quite so clever.”
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