 | The clink of the ice and other poems worth reading |  |
130
[A New York critic, Winter hight]
A New York critic, Winter hight,
Upon a time did sore despite
A play & him as he wrote it;
He set a straw man on a hill;
Then, couching his prodigious quill,
Most grievously he smote it.
Upon a time did sore despite
A play & him as he wrote it;
131
Then, couching his prodigious quill,
Most grievously he smote it.
“Meseemeth, 'neath that poet guise
The baseborn caitiff Lathrop lies—
And he's the prey I've layed for;
& it behooves me now to fare
Against that prey and raise its hair—
Syn that is what I'm paid for.”
The baseborn caitiff Lathrop lies—
And he's the prey I've layed for;
& it behooves me now to fare
Against that prey and raise its hair—
Syn that is what I'm paid for.”
So up & down that critic rased
& backe & foorth he foyned & trased
& monstrous strookes deliverd;
Till that, from hacking at that straw
In direst wise you ever saw,
His quill was all to-shivered.
& backe & foorth he foyned & trased
& monstrous strookes deliverd;
Till that, from hacking at that straw
In direst wise you ever saw,
His quill was all to-shivered.
& when he made an end at last
& when that man of straw was brast
Like so much straw asunder,
Loud laughen peoples all to see
That critic angred for that he
Had made a grewsome blunder.
& when that man of straw was brast
Like so much straw asunder,
Loud laughen peoples all to see
That critic angred for that he
Had made a grewsome blunder.
It was not Lathrop that he slew,
Though that was what he meant to do
With his egregious feather;
'Twas Tennyson he slew so bold—
Then was that critic, we ben told,
Beset by wintry weather.
Though that was what he meant to do
With his egregious feather;
'Twas Tennyson he slew so bold—
Then was that critic, we ben told,
Beset by wintry weather.
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