Blow, blow your trumpets till they crack,
Ye little men of little souls!
And bid them huddle at your back–
Gold-sucking leeches, shoals on shoals!<br /><br />
Fill all the air with hungry wails–
“Reward us, ere we think or write!
Without your Gold mere Knowledge fails
To sate the swinish appetite!”<br /><br />
And, where great Plato paced serene,
Or Newton paused with wistful eye,
Rush to the chace with hoofs unclean
And Babel-clamour of the sty!<br /><br />