In Competition 2841 you were invited to paint an amusing portrait in verse of the vice and folly of humankind.

It was William Congreve who wrote that it is the business of a comic poet to paint the vice and follies of humankind, and I thought I would give you the opportunity to do just that. Gail White expresses doubt that ‘the vices of our flesh and minds’ can ‘be contained in sixteen lines’. But John O’Byrne boils it all down into a haiku: ‘My new credit card/ Means I can buy happiness./ Where did I go wrong?’ The extra fiver is Sylvia Fairley’s. Her fellow winners take £30.

Oh, the folly of man adds a frisson to life
That is otherwise empty and grey;
We can nurture, for spice, the occasional vice,
It will tend to keep boredom at bay.

When we’ve swallowed a skinful and binged
through the night,
Sung ‘Abba’ and danced in the buff,
And we wake up in pain with a thirst that’s insane,
Well, it’s clear we’re not drinking enough.

We’ll indulge to excess, for we have to confess
Humankind was designed to have fun — see
The oodles of grease that will make us obese —
Pile it on, it won’t show in a onesie.

If we feel like a smoke, though the doc says we’ll
croak,
Let us light up, inhale and forget,
While we share smutty sports and intimate thoughts
With our two million ‘friends’ on the net.
Sylvia Fairley
 
The only reason to exist,
One’s parents having tupped,
Is to continue what lies in you,
The power to corrupt.

The man is father to the child
Whatever poets spout:
Should goodness burgeon, play the surgeon —
Be quick and cut it out.

The murderer, the psychopath
Are pleasures to be sung —
We publicise their crimes and lies
And like to feed their tongue.

It’s no fun being nice and neat
Or a chinless, sinless wonder —
A curse on spring, we’d rather swing
To the grumble of some thunder.
Bill Greenwell
 
Though blessed with intellect and brawn, man’s
born a slave to Folly;
His Gluttony of food and drink results in
melancholy.
Man’s Lust infects his flesh and blood with
horrible diseases,
And Avarice will make him steal most anything
he pleases.
Green Envy eats away man’s soul and torments
his existence,
And Sloth will lead him blindly down the path
of least resistance.
His Wrath inspires homicide, which loads a
million hearses,
While Pride provokes the likes of me to pen
insipid verses.

But lovely woman, blessed with grace, inspires
admiration
And saves this cus-sed human race from absolute
damnation.
Douglas G. Brown
 
‘Lettuce spray,’ the bishop spat, ‘for all who lose
their way
And choose the wide and easy road that leads,
alas, astray,
Who, falling on to stony ground with weeds on
every side,
Succumb to lust and gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath,
envy, pride,
Those deadly sins we all despise that everywhere
abound
And, sadly, sully all whose seeds are sown on  stony ground.
The first and worst of these is lust which all
around we see,
A sin the Sun supports (I’m told) in colour on
page 3.
Next gluttony and greed, twin sins that righteous
souls abhor,
One scoffing everything it can, the other craving
more.
Then sloth, which wrath and envy stirs in all who
have to work
And break their backs to pay the tax supporting
those who shirk.
So lettuce spray,’ he spat again, ‘for all who go
astray
And, tempted by the road to hell, reject the
narrow way,’
Then, gathering up his sumptuous cope with
ostentatious flair,
He, proudly, donned his mitre and descended to
his chair.
Alan Millard
 
The seven deadly sins? I’ve tried them all,
And frankly, most of them begin to pall.
Take Wrath, a sin whose benefits I question,
For anger gives me acid indigestion.
The sin of Pride leads other men astray,
But I’m a humble chap, I’m proud to say.
And Envy — what? Your car, your job, your life?
No thanks … and I’ve already had your wife.
I find that Gluttony is overrated;
Why stuff myself when I’m completely sated?
Greed is a sin I utterly deplore
In others — I, of course, need much, much more.
I can’t deny that Sloth has its attraction,
And there are days when I prefer inaction.
But Lust — now there’s a sin I really sigh for:
Those tempting bottoms, breasts and legs to die for!
Brian Allgar

You are invited to submit an extract from either a gripping thriller or a bodice-ripping romance containing half a dozen pieces of inconsequential information (150 words max). Entries should be emailed to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 16 April.