A Short Swinburnian Ode Adressed to a Shiten Shepherd

I make no claims for the following as poetry: it is simply angry verse, and the first line and metre are an imitation of A. C. Swinburne's poem Hymn to Proserpine ("Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean"), regretting the triumph of Christianity, and the decay of paganism. The words are said to have been spoken by the Julian the Apostate on his death-bed.


Please note the older pronunciation of 'victuals' as 'vittles', and you will get the reference.


Thou hast conquered, O pasty-faced *******!
The Church has grown weak, suffers scorn.
Our Faith that was manlier victuals
Has dwindled to muesli and quorn.

Of our Church Catholics once lived for, died for,
Now little's left here but the name.
The Light that your flock yearn and cry for,
Starved of fuel, is a weak, guttering flame.

You offer Our Lady's due: flowers 
On altars to strange heathen gods,
Fudge Doctrine, misusing your powers,
To affirm pagans, heretics, S**s.