Classic Poem

Close, Osler, close that mouth for evermore!
Remove thy foot therefrom. Dam up its rot.
Your mind was built to diagnose a sore,
For philosophy or logic, surely not.
No young philosopher has ever been.
No young logician has as yet appear'd.
Yet you — to bolster your bull-headed whim —
Claim a man 's play'd out, ere scarce he's grown a beard.
How 'gainst the pricks canst thou so stubborn kick?
How, in face of facts, canst thou so loudly bray?
Towards History thou art a cub sans lick
None read in History such drule could say.
Close, Osler, close that mouth for evermore .
Or be writ down " Osler, the learned bore. "