A Parody Anthology. Wells Carolyn

I have nothing pressing to impart,

      I should not mind dilating on this matter.

      I feel its import both in head and heart,

      And always did, – especially the latter.

      I could discuss it in the busy mart

      Or on the lonely housetop; hold! this chatter

      Diverts me from my purpose. To the point:

      The time, as Hamlet said, is out of joint,

      And perhaps I was born to set it right, —

      A fact I greet with perfect equanimity.

      I do not put it down to "cursed spite,"

      I don't see any cause for cursing in it. I

      Have always taken very great delight

      In such pursuits since first I read divinity.

      Whoever will may write a nation's songs

      As long as I'm allowed to right its wrongs.

      What's Eton but a nursery of wrong-righters,

      A mighty mother of effective men;

      A training ground for amateur reciters,

      A sharpener of the sword as of the pen;

      A factory of orators and fighters,

      A forcing-house of genius? Now and then

      The world at large shrinks back, abashed and beaten,