Have I no weapon-word for thee--some message brief and fierce? (Have I fought out and done indeed the battle?) Is there no shot left, For all thy affectations, lisps, scorns, manifold silliness? Nor for myself--my own rebellious self in thee?

Down, down, proud gorge!--though choking thee; Thy bearded throat and high-borne forehead to the gutter; Crouch low thy neck to eleemosynary gifts.