(What though Pringle were exhausted, and e’en Kenworthy dumb),
Swift as the summer swallow, or the fleet prairie hen,
Out popped Josiah Wedgwood, or else Wedgwood Benn.
From the bora of the Arctic to the rainfall of Spain,
From the theories of Einstein to the “talks” of Frank Crane,
There exists no place or subject, not embraced in the ken
Of omniscient Josiah Wedgwood and wise Wedgwood Benn.
Were they harsh?—They could be tender. Were they gay?—They could be grave.
Did they thunder in anger?—They could also be suave.
They could bruise like Joseph Beckett: they could sting like cayenne,