He, haunted by a lover’s grasp
With limp to make his ego rasp
And verse to make his public gasp
A Scottish shard of British Spode
Twice leaving England for the road
First gigolo then Jezebel
He, villain cast of frigid hell
By bleaters few who loathed him well:
Mad poet in a wooden toad!
A gift to Greece his last abode
Secreting sins before the mast
He bled too fair and fled too fast
