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Salvationists

I

Come, my songs, let us speak of perfection—

We shall get ourselves rather disliked.

 

II

 

Ah yes, my songs, let us resurrect

The very excellent term Rusticus.
Let us apply it in all its opprobrium
To those to whom it applies.
And you may decline to make them immortal.
For we shall consider them and their state
In delicate
Opulent silence.

 

III

 

Come, my songs,

Let us take arms against this sea of stupidities—
Begining with Mumpodorus;
And against this sea of vulgarities—
Beginning with Nimmim;
And against this sea of imbeciles—
All the Bulmenian literati.

 

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