For Freedom's battle once begun, / Bequeathed by bleeding Sire to Son, / Though baffled oft is ever won.

I know that two and two make four -- and should be glad to prove it too if I could -- though I must say if by any sort of process I could convert 2 and 2 into five it would give me much greater pleasure.

Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son!/ All that we know is, nothing can be known.

Nay more, though all my rival rhymesters frown, / I too can hunt a poetaster down.

The arena swims around him - he is gone,/ Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won.

The battle about what that provision means has only just begun.