My Lord Poet by Ambrose Bierce — Read

"Who drives fat oxen should himself be fat;" / Who sings for nobles, he should noble be.

There's no "non sequitur", I think, in that, / And this is logic plain as a, b, c.

Now, Hector Stuart, you're a Scottish prince, / If right you fathom your descent -- that fall / From grace; and since you have no peers, and since / You have no kind of nobleness at all, / 'Twere better to sing little, lest you wince / When made by heartless critics to sing small.

And yet, my liege, I bid you not despair -- / Ambition conquers but a realm at once: / For European bays arrange your hair -- / Two continents, in time, shall crown you Dunce!