Flings to the world in wild frenzee
A poem on “a wattled fold,”
Commissioner of Lunacee.
In his strange verse none sense can see;
He raves of “limbs and beards of gold”;
He really hath great need of thee!
Anon he says, “A hell I see!”
And talks of satyrs dead and cold:
Commissioner of Lunacee.
And many an untold idiocee,