I’m told that it has, by my betters!
A Triolet’s scarcely the thing—
Unless you would carol in fetters!
THE RONDEAU.
(In a Rage.)
Pray tell me why we can’t agree
To bid the merry Muse run free?
Pray tell me why we should incline
To see her in a Rondeau pine,
Or sigh in shackled minstrelsy?