"Great king, " the poet cried, his rebec stringing,
"Thy name shall live forever--through my singing!" "Poor fool, " the king replied, "that lie is hoary;
Thy songs may live--because they chant my glory!" So each, the sword or lyre glorifying,
In turn proclaimed his work alone undying; And while their wordy warfare shook the rafter,
Old Time stood by and held his sides for laughter!