Ye British Asses, who expect to hear
	Ever some new thing,
I've nothing new to tell, but what, I fear,
	May be a true thing.
For Tait comes with his plummet and his line,
	Quick to detect your
Old bosh new dressed in what you call a fine
	Popular lecture.

Whence comes that most peculiar smattering,
	Heard in our section?
Pure nonsense, to a scientific swing
	Drilled to perfection?
That small word "Force," they make a barber's block,
	Ready to put on
Meanings most strange and various, fit to shock
	Pupils of Newton.

Ancient and foreign ignorance they throw
	Into the bargain;
The shade of Leibnitz mutters from below
	Horrible jargon.
The phrases of last century in this
	Linger to play tricks —
Vis Vivaand Vis Mortua and Vis
	Acceleratrix: —

Those long-nebbed words that to our text books still
	Cling by their titles,
And from them creep, as entozoa will,
	Into our vitals.
But see! Tait writes in lucid symbols clear
	One small equation;
And Force becomes of Energy a mere
	Space-variation.

Force, then, is Force, but mark you! not a thing,
	Only a Vector;
Thy barbed arrows now have lost their sting,
	Impotent spectre!
Thy reign, O Force! is over. Now no more
	Heed we thine action;
Repulsion leaves us where we were before,
	So does attraction.

Both Action and Reaction now are gone.
	Just ere they vanished,
Stress joined their hands in peace, and made them one;
	Then they were banished.
The Universe is free from pole to pole,
	Free from all forces.
Rejoice! ye stars — like blessed gods ye roll
	On in your courses.

No more the arrows of the Wrangler race,
	Piercing shall wound you.
Forces no more, those symbols of disgrace,
	Dare to surround you:
But those whose statements baffle all attacks,
	Safe by evasion, —
Whose definitions, like a nose of wax,
	Suit each occasion, —

Whose unreflected rainbow far surpassed
	All our inventions,
Whose very energy appears at last
	Scant of dimensions:—
Are these the gods in whom ye put your trust,
	Lordlings and ladies?
The hidden potency of cosmic dust
	Drives them to Hades.

While you, brave Tait! who know so well the way
	Forces to scatter,
Calmly await the slow but sure decay,
	Even of Matter.