Whosoever fails to comprehend the plot
Shall baffled be a little longer, till
This explanation shall be told withal,
Concerning him that bowers shuns, with tales
To haunt the lucid mind with severed hands
And palms which grew where roses now have sprung
To hide the traces of the awful past.
Thus was Rangoon, by Schiller loved no more,
Though visited by Polo, and by me –
In fact, by all save Carybd – noble wight –
Who would not touch the dame his father raped:
Great is his honour, see his peerless fame,
As when his wealth, from wisdom once accrued,
Shall cease to be. Twin daughters of Rangoon
Shall swiftly be revealed, and all made clear,
Whenas a father trips through dancing feasts
Without a murmur of contented pride
At what was bred by mothers. In the sea
Putresco, impotent, did lose his privates,
Boiled in the very whirlpool of desire
Betwixt the evil mythologic twins,
No whit untampered with by Willet, he
Of whom we shall see more anon, pardee!

Sweet were her ways. Alike to dust we turn
Those wights whom we dislike. Putresco thus
Would liberate me from the toils of life,
And almost would it please me. Save that I
Can blow my nose on what remains of her,
Whose fate unholy doth not ease the way
To life's sad dusk, which no bright dawn shall follow
The moon's a pill I fear I cannot swallow.

My porcelanity perhaps belies
My deeper thoughts, as do my slanting eyes.

Yond sticky field is worse for who should stay
A course in time beyond Poseidon's sail,
And though the time has shown the rotting noose
Each night in love our rhymes are catalogued
By keepers of the tower, long since locked
Abandoned quite, for what need towers now?
As yet devolved like Polo's treasure, held
Too long in his unpleasant hand. I wait
For such as may inform me of the state
Of war in th'east where Kings with Turks dispute
And stain the sward with rank unclotted drops;
Mehopes they're thwarted ere our land succumbs!