The Table Round was littered over sore.
King Arthur groaned; ah, over sore was he!
Amongst his wits he sate, where sate before
That Paynim Chief in his arch ribaldry-
Ah me! when will we glimpse again such glor-
Y? when, yes, when another such wight see
Whose spirit seems to pass 'twixt earth and heaven?-
Just then our Tartuffe neatly passed with seven-
A Kempis crossed himself and "Aves" sobbed;
King Arthur cried out, "Tartuffe! no more craps!"
The Duchess said she knew her poor heart throbbed
Ever so much more fiercely its love-taps
'Gainst her worn, weary bosom :-when up bobbed
Tartuffe with, "Damn it, Kempy, can't we chaps
Enjoy ourselves for once without your dolors?
Pray just consider us your Holy Rollers!-
"There's Byron there-no bigot-come!-get hep!"
-The Duchess, noble lady that she was,
Rose to her feet and: "Tartuffe! mind your rep!
You can't go on so like a silly ass-
The thing about an epic's does it ep?
We've business here-you didn't come to pass. For instance, 'Babies': such realistic squeaking, We fairly seem to hear the author speaking."
But then the great King, pained to hear such wrangling,
Cut short these sportive tongues' too idle wag,
Broke wildly in, yea, left the Duchess dangling-
"What-what's to come? O my beloved Mag,
Is it those dear teeth rattling that's this jangling,
Or is it some intruder that would drag
The ambrosial secret from a violet?
Has no one sung a single Spring Song yet?"