Nay, I beg pardon,—would have said
My reverend brother!—cannot keep
My predication from my head;
I got it yesterday by rote,
The taste still lingers in my throat.
Enough of that.—To you I offer
My thanks, whose energy began,
Whose firmness carried through, the plan,
Despite the babbler and the scoffer;
Fell’d that which was about to fall,