(Exhibited in the Oxford Magazine.)
Though Keats rhymed “ear” to “Cytherea,”
And Morris “dawn” to “morn,”
A worse example, it is clear,
By Oxford Dons is “shorn.”
G—y, of Magdalen, goes beyond
These puny Cockneys far,
And to “Magrath” rhymes—Muse despond!—
“Magrath” he rhymes to “star”!
Another poet, X. Y. Z.,
Employs the word “researcher,”
And then,—his blood be on his head,—
He makes it rhyme to “nurture.”
Ah, never was the English tongue
So flayed, and racked, and tortured,
Since one I love (who should be hung)
Made “tortured” rhyme to “orchard.”
Unkindly G—y’s raging pen
Next craves a rhyme to “sooner;”
Rejecting “Spooner,” (best of men,)
He fastens on lacuna ( r ).
Nay, worse, in his infatuate mind
He ends a line “explainer,”
Nor any rhyme can G—y find
Until he reaches Jena(r).
Yes, G—y shines the worst of all,
He needs to rhyme “embargo;”
The man had “Margot” at his call,
He had the good ship Argo;
Largo he had; yet doth he seek
Further, and no embargo
Restrains him from the odious, weak,
And Cockney rhyme, “Chicago”!
Ye Oxford Dons that Cockneys be,
Among your gardens tidy,
If you would ask a maid to tea,
D’ye call the girl “a lydy”?
And if you’d sing of Mr. Fry,
And need a rhyme to “swiper,”
Are you so cruel as to try
To fill the blank with “paper”?
Oh, Hoxford was a pleasant plice
To many a poet dear,
And Saccharissa had the grice
In Hoxford to appear.
But Waller, if to Cytherea
He prayed at any time,
Did not implore “her friendly ear,”
And think he had a rhyme.
Now, if you ask to what are due
The horrors which I mention,
I think we owe them to the U-
Niversity extension.
From Hoxton and from Poplar come
The ’Arriets and ’Arries,
And so the Oxford Muse is dumb,
Or, when she sings, miscarries.