On First Looking into Nesfield's Historical English

(With scrapings to anything that may be left of John Keats.)

Much have I travelled in the realms of prose,
And many most atrocious essays seen.
Round many City bookstalls have I been,
Where printed trash enjoys a sweet repose.
I'd even heard of volumes worse than those,
From which I pray I'll keep my record clean!
But never did I feel so sickly green,
Till Nesfield trod on my scholastic toes.
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies,
When that new star turns out to be no score."
Or like stout Cortez when with hazy eyes
He spotted two Pacifics on the floor
Of some wild inn, and woke with anguished cries,
The morning following the night before.

—D.J.D.