Macaulay is the first to fall
among the line of red and gold;
a dusty grave,
a discard box.

Now Fielding slumps, his flank exposed,
and soon to join his fallen friend;
so face to face,
they wait the close.

But Charlotte Brontë Unabridged
will not adjust her ponderous size,
and so must stand
where others lie.

This is the battle I most dread,
for when I’ve cleared your shelves of names,
then I shall know
that you are dead.