Should you want rhymes again for Graecum, I'll send you some if you bespeak 'um, But you're conceited and won't take 'um. Take three old wethers and their rumps tie, And you will find a rhyme to Cumpsty, Or should your fiddle strings your drums tie. It shows in rhyming you're not far gone, Who could not find a rhyme to "jargon," That you must call a bargain "bargon"; Had you but drunk a glass of claret -- Nay, had you thought upon a carrot -- You might have found a rhyme to "parrot." You that have bells to ring and chime, To find you at a loss for rhyme Makes you a scandal to all piddlers In verse -- nay, more I say, to fiddlers! Were you not very dull and idle, You might be taught it from your bridle; The groaning car that goes along Might furnish you with rhymes for song. When your lampooned our may'r, the tailor, You called the Chancellor "Chansaylor"; I think you're very much to blame You did not practise here the same. Ah, those were happy days of Wit, When you found out the term "Prick-nit"! But now, alas, thy stubborn brain Will no such fancies entertain! Thy wit is palled, thy judgment drowned, Thy shattered keel is run aground; And you that sailed so well before Lie stranded on a dirty shore, There ever destined to be held fast In a damp miry slough near Belfast. |