My admonition to my erstwhile business partner,
Delivered in stentorian tones,
Augmented by gnarled, bony finger
And a cacophony of implements of imprisonment,
Was, in truth, primarily theatrical in nature.
Indeed, what leviathan of finance, what learned philosopher,
What nimble-minded barrister or incumbent of a bishopric
Can say precisely at what point
Mankind begins and his commerce ends?
If I was not a wise steward of the currency,
If I did not act in such a manner
To assure a strong and stable rate of return for the honest investor,
Instead letting pound and penny fluctuate
Like waves on the great open Atlantic in a November maelstrom,
Then how many, great and small,
Would be washed away, lemming-like,
By the great tide of fiscal panic?

Perhaps the rationale for my caution to the good Ebenezer
Can be called into question, but none can doubt its effect;
His deeds were lauded, celebrated in story and song,
Although whether that reflected a true change of heart
Or simply the speculative seeking of indulgences
Was never subject to any degree of scrutiny;
Yet I (who, to be fair, played more than a trifling part
In his reclamation and illumination)
Remain fully encumbered
With a hodgepodge of iron and ignominy
For no other reason than a minor disparity in our timing,
That minute degree of light which divides white from gray,
And, as such, I can do no more than ruefully note
How problematic is this business of rehabilitation