Aye you’re a man that ! ye old mesmerizer
Tyin’ your meanin’ in seventy swadelin’s,
One must of needs be a hang’d early riser
To catch you at worm turning. Holy Odd’s body-kins!
‘Cat’s i’ the water butt!’ Thought’s in your verse-barrel,
Tell us this thing rather, then we’ll believe you,
You, Master Bob Browning, spite your apparel
Jump to your sense and give praise as we’d lief do.
You wheeze as a head-cold long-tonsilled Calliope,
But God! what a sight you ha’ got o’ our in’ards,
Mad as a hatter but surely no Myope,
Broad as all ocean and leanin’ man-kin’ards.
Heart that was big as the bowels of Vesuvius,
Words that were wing’d as her sparks in eruption,
Eagled and thundered as Jupiter Pluvius,
Sound in your wind past all signs o’ corruption.
Here’s to you, Old Hippety-Hop o’ the accents,
True to the Truth’s sake and crafty dissector,
You grabbed at the gold sure; had no need to pack cents,
Into your versicles.
Clear sight’s elector!