A REVERSAL
The old man in his fast car
Leaves Achilles lagging,
The old man with his long gun
Outshoots Ulysses’ bow,
Nestor in his botched old age
Rivals Ajax bragging,
To Nestor’s honeyed courtship
Could Helen say “No”?
Yet, ancient, since you borrow
From youth the strength and speed,
Seducing as an equal
His playmates in the night,
He, robbed, assumes your sceptre,
He overgoes your rede,
And with his brown and lively hairs
Out-prophesies your white.
THE MARTYRED DECADENTS: A SYMPATHETIC SATIRE
We strain our strings thus tight,
Our voices pitch thus high,
A song to indite
That nevermore shall die.
The Poet being divine
Admits no social sin,
Spurring with wine
And lust the Muse within.
Finding no use at all
In arms or civic deeds,
Perched on a wall
Fulfilling fancy’s needs.
Let parents, children, wife,
Be ghosts beside his art,
Be this his life
To hug the snake to his heart.
Sad souls, the more we stress
The advantage of our crown,
So much the less
Our welcome by the Town,
By the gross and rootling hog
Who grunts nor lifts his head,
By jealous dog
Or old ass thistle-fed.