But I’ll do it, or have it done for me by “our mechanicians,”
They shall invent a machine to be loaded with domesticated gunpowder
(I patenting the discovery, of course, as the author of the suggestion),
That shall enable me to reign in the blue empyrean and complete the subdual of the planet
Which is and has been for ever so long my heritage.
Wo, then, wo to the gnats! wo to the Jewish-nosed eagle!
I put the least first and the greatest last, partly to snub the King of the Falconidæ,
And partly because it better suits my rhythm—
I will not say my metre because I condemn all trammels,
Pouring out my soul in lines of unequal lengths occasionally relieved by hexameters.