Nay, I shall flash it flaming in their sight,
And brandish it, and promise swashing blows
Of the keen blade, as ofttimes heretofore.
I'll outshine Tennyson, out-hero Irving!
Trust me 'tis not yet time for that weird arm,
'Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,'
To emerge from out the misty middle-mere
And snatch from Me the Sword Excalibur!"
[Freezes on to it.