Oh, Tempora! Oh, Mores! Edgar Allan Poe

Oh Times! Oh Manners! It is my opinion
That you are changing sadly your dominion—
I mean the reign of manners hath long ceased,
For men have none at all, or bad at least;
And as for times, although ’tis said by many
The “good old times” were far the worst of any,
Of which sound doctrine I believe each tittle,
Yet still I think these worse than them a little.

I’ve been a thinking, isn’t that the phrase?
—I like your Yankee words and Yankee ways—
I’ve been a thinking, whether it were best
To take things seriously or all in jest;
Whether with grim Heraclitus of yore
To weep, as he did, till his eyes were sore,
Or rather laugh with him, that queer Philosopher,
Democritus of Thrace, who used to toss over
The page of life and grin at the dog-ears,
As though he’d say, “Why who the devil cares?”

This is a question which, oh Heaven, withdraw
The luckless query from a Member’s claw!
Instead of two sides, Bob has nearly eight,
Each fit to furnish forth four hours debate.
What shall be done? I’ll lay it on the table,
And take the matter up when I’m more able,
And in the meantime, to prevent all bother,
I’ll neither laugh with one or cry with t’other,
Nor deal in flattery or aspersions foul,
But, taking one by each hand, merely growl.