Unto a Savage Race

They haven’t triumphed yet over my wit:
In spite of criticism, cruel and blind,
As mean in spirit as it isn’t kind,
My clever, wise ripostes have not alit
On shoulders broad enough to take the hit,
But have instead been ambushed from behind
By weakened intellects, who must unwind
Hurling insults and urging me to quit.

I won’t allow my brow to be so beaten,
And I shall never quit this battlefield.
My heart is undismayed, my nerve is steeled,
I stand firm, and my last meal has been eaten.
I’ll mess their heads up, even as they neaten,
I’ll jest, and joke, and jeer, and never yield.