Writing goodly

Denunciation of Strunk & White is here, and there can be found an enjoyable Fark thread.

A light little poem has been written by me in response, although a bit of influence from Hillaire Belloc is acknowledged.


Remote and ineffectual Scot
That dared attack my Strunk & White,
With that poor weapon, half-impelled,
Unlearnt, unsteady, hardly held,
Unworthy for a tilt with men –
Your quavering and corroded pen;
Scot poor at Bed and worse at Table,
Scot pinched, Scot starved, Scot miserable
Scot stuttering, Scot with dirty looks,
Scot nervous, Scot pitching his book;
Scot clerical, Scot ordinary,
Scot self-absorbed and solitary;
Scot here-and-there, Scot epileptic;
Scot puffed and empty, Scot dyspeptic,
Scot middle-class, Scot sycophantic,
Scot dull, Scot brutish, Scot pedantic;
Scot hypocritical, Scot bad,
Scot furtive, Scot three-quarters mad;
Scot (since a man must make an end),
Scot that shall never be my friend.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Scot different from those noble Scots
With hearts of gold like Sir Lancelot,
Who shout and bang and roar and bawl
The Invisible Hand across the hall,
Or sail in amply billowing gown
Enormous through the Sacred Town,
Bearing from Edinburgh to their homes
Deep cargoes of gigantic tomes;
Scots admirable! Scots of Might!
Uprising on my inward sight
Full of energy and derring-do,
Winners of the field at Waterloo.
Scots valiant worthy of the land;
Scots rooted; Scots that understand.
Good Scots perpetual that remain
A landmark, above the plain –
The horizon of my memories –
Like large and comfortable trees.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Scot very much apart from these,
Thou scapegoat Scot, thou Scot devoted,
Scot to thine own damnation quoted,
Perplexed to find thy trivial name
Reared in this verse to lasting shame.
Scot dreadful, rasping and wearing,
Repulsive Scot past all bearing.
Scot of the cold and doubtful breath,
Scot despicable, like Macbeth;
Scot nasty, skimpy, silent, level;
Scot evil; Scot that serves the devil.
Scot ugly – that makes fifty lines.

There is a Canon which confines
A Rhymed Octosyllabic Curse
If written in Iambic Verse
To fifty lines. I never cut;
I far prefer to end it – but
Believe me I shall soon return.
My fires are banked, but still they burn
To write some more about the Scot
That dared attack my Strunk & White.