What makes you mope? You've naught to growse about.
You've got no hump. Your body's brave and straight--
So shapely even that you can afford
To trick it in fantastic shapelessness,
Knowing that there's a clean-limbed man beneath
Preposterous pantaloons and purple cats.
I would have been a poet, if I could:
But better than shaping poems 'twould have been
To have had a comely body and clean limbs
Obedient to my bidding.
Merry Andrew:
I missed a hoop
This afternoon.
Gentleman John:
You missed a hoop? You mean ...
Merry Andrew:
That I am done, used up, scrapped, on the shelf,
Out of the running--only that, no more.
Gentleman John:
Well, I've been missing hoops my whole life long;
Though, when I come to think of it, perhaps
There's little consolation to be chewed
From crumbs that I can offer.
Merry Andrew:
I've not missed
A hoop since I was six. I'm forty-two.
This is the first time that my body's failed me:
But 'twill not be the last. And ...
Gentleman John:
Such is life!
You're going to say. You see I've got it pat,
Your jaded wheeze.
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