The bard of England is no bard at all—
And but a thumb on great St. Jingo’s hand.
See lines of his that sprawl
Across the Times so great.
That bard, the mightiest bard on all the earth,
That one great bard is very much at sea;
Poor England, what would poetry be worth
If thou could’st boast no wiser bards than he?
A pitiable state.
You—you—who wrote those verses indiscreet,