What say you noble men of old?
William with your pen shaking
Like the Speare of a savage?
Spilling your mind across the pages
Which Robert in all his haste Burns
And you lonely Oscar?
Having passed Eugene in the corn Field
And Rupert by the trickling Brooke,
Only to lose yourself in the Wilde
What say you of Edgar Lee,
Who left his Masters
And with Swift Jonathan
Crossed the Gray Moore to the Thomas’s
And when said Thomas stood
With handman, noose and Hood
“What a pity”, as Robert said
Laying them in their winters Graves