Classic Poem

AB ISHOP and Abold dragoon,
Both heroes in their way,
Did thus, of late, one afternoon;
Unto each other say; —
" Dear bishop, " quoth the brave huzzar,
" As nobody denies
" That you a wise logician are,
" And I am — otherwise,
" 'T is fit that in this question, we
" Stick each to his own art —
" That yours should be the sophistry,
" And mine the fighting part.
" My creed, I need not tell you, is
" Like that of Wellington,
" To whom no harlot comes amiss,
" Save her of Babylon;
" And when we 're at a loss for words,
" If laughing reasoners flout us,
" For lack of sense we 'll draw our swords —
" The sole thing sharp about us. " —

" Dear bold dragoon, " the bishop said,
" 'T is true for war thou art meant;
" And reasoning — bless that dandy head!
" Is not in thy department.
" So leave the argument to me —
" And, when my holy labor
" Hath lit the fires of bigotry,
" Thou 'It poke them with thy sabre.
" From pulpit and from sentrybox,
" We 'll make our joint attacks,
" I at the head of my Cassocks ,
" And you, of your Cossacks .
" So here 's your health, my brave huzzar,
" My exquisite old fighter —
" Success to bigotry and war,
" The musket and the mitre! "
Thus prayed the minister of heaven —
While York, just entering then,
Snored out (as if some Clerk had given
His nose the cue) " Amen. "