The Ballad[e] Of The Bore

I see him come from far, And, sick with hopelessness, Invoke some kindly star,-- I see him come, no less. Is there no sure recess Where hunted men may lie? Ye gods, it is too hard! I feel his glittering eye,-- Defend us from The Bard! He knows nor let nor bar: With ever-nearing stress, Like Juggernaut his car, I see him onward press; He waves a huge MS.; He puts evasion by, He stands--as one on guard, And reads--how volubly!-- Defend us from The Bard! He reads--of Fates that mar, Of Woes beyond redress, Of all the Moons that are, Of Maids that never bless, (As one, indeed, might guess); Of Vows, of Hopes too high, Of Dolours by the yard That none believe (nor buy),-- Defend us from The Bard! ENVOY Prince Phoebus, all must die, Or well- or evil-starred, Or whole of heart or scarred; But why in this way--why? Defend us from The Bard!