Crowned so long with a laurel-wreath
Seldom worn by a worthier,
Now with preposterous flummeries
Come at last to this flatulent
Droning Ode on the Jubilee!
III.
Nothing of the flawless—but the tin pot—
Nothing of the dulcet, or strain glorious,
All is fussy, feeble, flat—writ poorly.
* * * * *