He was always prone to take the Michael,
Or lead a fool circuitously,
Or trounce a clever one wondrously,
Sometimes in stealth, or even openly.
But sometimes these jokes of his backfired
Or did not succeed without a shove,
And sometimes he himself got mired
In the muck, like any simple dove.
But he could cleverly start a quarrel,
Reply both archly and sincerely,
At times be silent most urbanely,
At others skilfully promote a squabble,
Or set two friends to hate each other,
And lead them to the duel as a brother;
Or force them both to dextra data,
In order to get a a meal for free,
And then defame them privately,
With a jolly joke and lying banter.
But times are changed! And all these wheezes,
(Like love's young dream, another joke)
Are blown away by age's breezes.
As I was saying, 's yoke,
Retired from the storms of life at last,
Was now to sit among his cherries,
And, like a sage, relive his past,
Like Horace sow cabbages and peas,
Breed ducks and geese and cast his net,
And teach young scamps the alphabet.
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Originally Posted by Crimson
