His rise continued with daring displays,

In stolen finery, he trod gilded ways;

Kings’ guards and bankers, all duped by his craft,

Not one yet aware of the lies he’d raft.

 

In cities that whispered his name aloud,

He dressed in fine silks, his head high, unbowed;

By night he’d wager and flatter and charm,

Leaving empty purses as dawn met farm.

 

Across his path, the honest lay strewn,

Like broken shields on a battlefield soon,

With pockets emptied, their hopes undone,

Yet none could catch him—not a single one.

 

He bought men’s silence, spoke only in lies,

With promises false, sweet venomous ties;

And everywhere eyes held awe and trust,

In Ogilvy’s wisdom, his ways, his gust.

 

New schemes brewed quick in his fevered mind,

Greater than all he had left behind;

A dream of riches, grander than all—

Would he be crowned the rogue who stood tall?

 

Yet secrets, like weeds, found cracks to grow,

And Ogilvy’s name was soon murmured low.

For whispers began to swirl of his means—

Might this high flyer be ripped from scenes?

                                                                                                                       ...to be continued...