The Vision of Judgment 078

LXXVIII 

The moment that you had pronounce him one, 
Presto! his face change'd and he was another; 
And when that change was hardly well put on, 
It varied, till I don't think his own mother 
(If that he had a mother) would her son 
Have known, he shifted so from one to t'other; 
Till guessing from a pleasure grew a task, 
At this epistolary 'Iron Mask.' 

George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron (1788-1824) 
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