Author James Ryder Randall Loud Sir, I am —Myself o'erthrown By your tremendous racket; But let us see In what degree That you and I most lack it. A wise old saw Hath made it law— (Now all your ears displaying) That lions quell Their roar a spell When jackasses are a-braying. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 2 (2 votes) Rate Log in or register to post comments