| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 1336. En Garde, Messieurs |
| | | By William Lindsey |
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| EN GARDE, Messieurs, too long have I endured, | |
| Too long with patience borne the world’s rebuff; | |
| Now he who shoulders me shall find me rough; | |
| The weakness of an easy soul is cured. | |
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| I ’ve shouted, leathern-lunged, when fame or gold | 5 |
| Were won by others, turned to aid my friend;— | |
| Dull-pated ever,—but such follies end; | |
| Only a fool’s content, and in the cold. | |
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| My doublet is in tatters, and my purse | |
| Waves in the wind, light as my lady’s fan; | 10 |
| Only my sword is bright; with it I plan | |
| To win success, or put my sword to nurse. | |
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| I wait no longer for the primal blow; | |
| Henceforth my stroke is first, I give offense; | |
| I claim no more an over-dainty sense, | 15 |
| I brook no blocking where I plan to go. | |
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| En garde, Messieurs! and if my hand is hard, | |
| Remember I ’ve been buffeted at will; | |
| I am a whit impatient, and ’t is ill | |
| To cross a hungry dog, Messieurs, en garde. | 20 |
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