In faith, the art is only what you will,
And if the word can poison not your ear
Then you’re in luck; some men of lesser stuff
Dislike to hear it, dare not speak its name.
Whereas without a flicker of his eye
A man might speak of King Richard the Third,
Or pose an idle sonnet on his rod,
Or praise the wit of his selfsame Johnson.
Oh lord, this is fantastic.
Thou know’st. The Knave abideth.