Nay, brothers, why should hatred lodge . . .
"That's ultra vires!" thundered Stodge.
"'Tis ultra vires!" cried the Knight.
"Besides, it isn't half polite.
And e'en the dullest Glug should know,
'Tis not pro bono publico.
Nay, Glugs, this fellow is no class.
Remember! Vincit veritas!"
With sidelong looks and sheepish grins,
Like men found out in secret sins,
Glug gazed at Glug in nervous dread;
Till one with claims to learning said,
"Sir Stodge is talking Greek, you know.
He may be bad, but never low."
Then those who had no word of Greek
Felt lifted up to hear him speak.
"Ah, learning, learning," others said.
'Tis fine to have a clever head."
And here and there a nervous cheer
Was heard, and someone growled, "Hear, hear."
"Kind friends," said Sym . . . But, at a glance,
The 'cute Sir Stodge had seen his chance.
"Quid nuncl" he cried. "O noble Glugs,
This fellow takes you all for mugs.
I ask him, where's his quid pro quo?
I ask again, quo warranto?
"Shall this man filch our wits from us
With his furor poeticus?
Nay!" cried Sir Stodge.
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