“Put on a mask, as it were”  

from  Wolf Hall, by Hi­lary Man­tel

Be­fore you leave at morn­ing break

Put on a mask, as it were.

Be­fore you leave for bread to break,

Put on a mask, your glory se­cure.                

Like the façades of cathe­drals of old,

Arrange your fea­tures as you think you’re told.

Put on a mask, that you weave,

Whether or not you in­tend to de­ceive.

Your face tells us sto­ries with great de­tail;

You’re com­mis­sioned to guide the faith­less well.

So in you we place our hope and trust,

Don’t dis­ap­point these col­lec­tions of dust.

Put on a mask, won’t you now,

Adorn with gold leaf your arch­ing brow.

Pre­pared are we for the splen­dor in­side,

Un­less your façade has some­thing to hide.

So pro­ject what’s be­hind your lus­trous screen;

Or, are you sim­ply a set, a mere dis­play,

Whose glossy ve­neer can be stripped away?

Such cheap pro­duc­tions are too lightly beamed.

Now if you’re re­quest­ing we wor­ship here,

Let your face be a mir­ror, or I fear,

Your art­less­ness will be your fall,

Re­demp­tion will be truth to all.

Let fall your mask, if you will,

Dis­ap­point us with your tricks of ill.

Face to the world, set in stone,

Your covenant will be your bones.