I begged their pardons, and their, and their,
  however I couldn’t fall asleep.
My deuce came to me and straddled a chair,
  prepared himself to leap.

Unceremoniously he urged me “Well,
  it’s time for contracts to sign.
Let’s assent to the league, let’s strike the bells,
  let’s tresspass sine die, time’s thine.”

   “You are free to lie, and to fornicate
   to betray you friends, break your words.
   Yeah, you’ll be oblidged later to meet a cheque,
   but it’s all to be afterwards.”

“You’ll get to know that: sins are tall,
  turning bitterly gray and dun.
The fortune is not being one for all,
  but everybody to be as one.”

“You’ll comprehend the point: you are not judged,
  neither then, nor straight away.
All together to waggle ‘yes’ to fudge,
  all and sundry to nod ‘no way’.”

   “You’ll engender wolfs, make them clearance check,
   teach them wag their tails for lords.
   Yeah, you’ll be oblidged later to meet a cheque,
   but it’s all to be afterwards.”

“The snows of yesteryear, your soul isn’t a cage
  lo and behold! — Doomsday’s gonna pass.
In our Stone Age, in our Nuclear Age,
  elastic conscience costs a vast.”

“No need nowadays to be good, it’s a pain
  closing our days in the ash...
So shoulder a debt, take this fountain pen,
  and sign it here, under a dash!”

   The deuce unconstrainedly rised from a mud
   and pushed a vial to me cross a desk.
   I uttered “Surely it is a blood?” —
   “Just an ink,” — he equivocal blessed.