He learns with delight, upon simple exertions
Of small minds contrite, facing clever assertions –
Resentfully so, for want of good work
That likewise inspires – saying “‘Tis job for our kirk!”
“Traitor or knave, your mind is askew,
With thoughts of such an irreverent hue!”
Unworthy of they, this unenlightened who tries
Yet threatened by his ideas – they mobilize!
“Look, behold – he of the variant sort;
The mob is offended – he must comport!
We’ll beat him down with our tired platitudes” –
But facing their better, exhaustion ensues
They rally once more, mouths frothy with spittle
Mouthing drivel from minds incomparably little
Tap, tap, tapping with anger – “‘Tis time he’s destroyed”
To protect them from prose he’s more deftly employed
Then doubt sets in; the ice begins to crack
Hearing his words, now the mob has looked back
“What’s this?” they ask, brows furrowed in doubt
“Have we all been had?” they begin to shout
Their leaders now panic; they waste no time
Distributing more of their party’s tired line
Too late! they find, the seed has been laid
The bell it has tolled, truth comes what may