With meanings now scarcely detectable;
You may wallow in saturnine spite,
You may flounder in flatulent flummery;
Be sombre as poet Young's "Night,"
And dry as a Newspaper "Summary";
As rude as a yowling Yahoo,
As chill as a volume of Chitty;
But oh, Sir, whatever you do,
You must not be witty!
Plod on through the sand-wastes of Fact,