Forever narrowing to that unknown sky.
There grows a hedge about you pulpit-folk:
You reason ex cathedra. Little gain
Have we to clash in tourney on the least
Of points, wherewith you trammel down the Faith,
It being, at outset, understood right well
By lay knights-errant, that their Reverend foes,
Fore-pledged to hold their own, will sound their trumps,
Though spearless and unhorsed! Why take the field,
When, at the best, both sides go bowing off