Read it through once

“Was it ‘grammar’ wherein you would ‘coach’ me-- You,--pacing in even that paddock Of language allotted you ad hoc, With a clog at your fetlocks,--you--scorners Of me free from all its four corners? Was it ‘clearness of words which convey thought?’ Ay, if words never needed enswathe aught But ignorance, impudence, envy And malice--what word-swathe would then vie With yours for a clearness crystalline? But had you to put in one small line Some thought big and bouncing--as noddle Of goose, born to cackle and waddle And bite at man’s heel as goose-wont is, Never felt plague its puny os frontis-- You’d know, as you hissed, spat and sputtered, Clear ‘quack-quack’ is easily uttered!”