But still we all feel, though I don't want to boast,
Like Park-hacks in paddock, or "tits" untied—"tits" untied.
They mock my wide smile, and my scantness of thatch;
I think, though, in managing skill I am—skill I am,
All things considered, much more than a match
For swaggering, swashing Sir William—Will-i-am!
Lawks! this is lovely! But, Smithy my lad,
In the midst of Arcadian beauty—an beauty,
You mustn't forget (the reflection is sad)
What is due to your Country and Duty—and Duty.