Classic Poem

'Gainst Swinburne's haughty crest he levell'd lance,
And with an onward rush which nought could stay,
Its fierce point struck 'neath where his proud plumes dance
And from his saddle bore that Knight away.
Next 'gainst the rugged Kipling turn'd he swift,
And by a demi-volte did his spear avoid;
Kip, full i'th face, wi' battle-axe he biff'd,
Kip's saddle thereupon contain'd a void.
" Pegasoid " the Laureate's weedy mount,
Balk'd at the spur and would not budge an inch.
The Challenger got down, begg'd him to dismount,
And, drawing sword, soon had him at a pinch.
Bill Watson's bulk alone the plain obscures,
So bovine Bill he forthwith swift, straight skewers.