And last, that sprawling Third--so meek, so mincing slim, You'ld never ha' dreamt how's his gag was bound, In the end, to clinch a subject, coil it round, As he let out that twisting trick of him; Which, till erring Man and Time debate no more, Shall still leave points for Master Rope to score.
Well--here was Company, if all was square? A doubt stood out, heard Heart say, "Brother Brain, Good Sir, have you been chumming with the Wine again?" When, "No," flung back the Head, "I wasn't there This many a day; since when my kindling deities are But a cup of Oolong and a mild cigar."
Yet, drat the thing! 'Twould take no nay; The stuff came fierce. Some blaze seemed on, And, tho' with no clear ground to go upon, I thought I said, "Let come what may, I'll hear it out," tho' 'ts trick for strange now topped the score, For by Grab and Stab! they spoke of War.
Yon feud that stains South Afric's land, The foul use to which a giant's sword Had long been put, 'gainst some young ward Of freedom's there. How the gallant tho' forlorn band, Compeers of Fame, made ring her page With wonder of the strife they singly wage.
Nay, what took me most,--but then, What good to ponder how these Councillors three Came to speak so tactic-deep, so judgingly 'Bout how that bully's brawl might not have been, Had they, on strength of prospect, in their wholesome way, From forth the tingling cheek of modern Day,
With timely hand, rebuking, wiped this burning shame, Made knavery uncloak, ere treason flew Her couriers flaunting of their liveried True, And with craft of covert mired a goodly name; No good to ponder this, now the vile flood has broke, Yet fact, or no--it was the way these worthies spoke.
And queer'st of all,--by some strange spell They becked me on, and, edging 'round, As in some magic circle held me bound, When, "now," cried they, "it fits us tell, 'Less thou be one of those, too apt by far, Who, shuffling, try to shape their star, By tale, lined smug with pleasing sooth, And, like world-wise husbands, till and farm No lease that tinge with thought of harm-- We doubt you sore--than sweat at back of rugged Truth; Who expound all fact by textman Strong, Glibbed ne'er so smooth with fine-spun Wrong."