Once more unto the post, dear friends, once more;
Or close the thread up with our lack of search.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As repeating the same stories again and again:
But when the WTLW blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then post a terrible retort;
Let pry through the portage of the web
Like the sad poster; let the jibe o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth an animated gif
O'erhang and jutty his confounded drivel,
Swill'd with the wild and wasted bandwidth.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bring up every key
To its full height.
On, on, you noblest satirist.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of sarcasm!
Fathers that, like so many spammers,
Have in these parts from morn till even spouted drivel
And logged off for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd dons did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser wit,
And teach them how to ridicule. And you, good poster,
Whose limbs were made in OcUK, show us here
The mettle of your wit; let us swear
That you are worth your post count; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the offending post. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and WTLW!'