by Richard "Mad Jack" Schulze
Still must I listen? - Shall hoarse Henrey bawl,
And Bailey fling crass couplets 'cross this hall?
Mine ears battered by vulgar poesie,
Hear my song of virtue and purity.
As I, in morals beyond all reproach
(You must agree), of deeds Byronic broach.
Those at odds with these ill observations,
Should blame not me, for Bacchian libations
Control my muse. Prepare you then for Rhyme:
Debauchery my theme, scourge of all time.
'Tis said in the halls of noble Trinity
There lacks the virtue of virginity.
Though tact would prohibit one naming names,
With me it's in short supply; so to blame
Methinks Messrs. Cohen and Paretzky,
Not to mention Van Doren and Oakley,
Have stained these fair halls with their morals dissolute.
And for men like Peter, who could refute
That tens of maidens drowned in the Cherwell,
Though 'tis said, they really wanted Colwell.
But what of the women? - You may enquire.
'Tis said that women who lit Byron's fire,
Kindled in men's hearts flames to melt icebergs:
Almost as radiant as Jane Blumberg's.
But the Byronic women of today:
Deirdre, Anna, and others, need I say;
Kara and Pam, 'though lacking in virtue,
Make up with their abilities to screw.
Woe to lost purity! - You well may cry;
But all is not lost, and I'll tell you why:
There's one virtuous soul named Amanda
Who resists John's efforts to command her.
And here I'll end, though you rhymsters may frown,
And too can hunt a Poetaster down.