Breathes there a Man with Soul so Dead.
Breathes there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
Confound that horrid Little-Go
Whose heart within him ne’er has burned,
As from the papers he has turned,
When them he found he did’nt know.
If such there be—go! mark him well
For him no Poll will do as well
As honours high, or wrangler’s name