The Blues – Lord Byron

Apologies for any formatting issues; the long lines, many broken over several rows, cause certain problems. I have added line numbers in an attempt to make it easier to follow. The poem rhymes in couplets.

from The Blues: A Literary Eclogue

London – Before the Door of a Lecture Room
[Enter Tracy, meeting Inkel.]

Tra:              What, won’t you return to the lecture? (40)
Ink: Why, the place is so cramm’d, there’s not room for a spectre.
        Besides, our friend Scamp is to-day so absurd—
Tra: How can you know that till you hear him?
Ink:                                                                     I heard
        Quite enough; and, to tell you the truth, my retreat
        Was from his vile nonsense, no less than the heat. (45)
Tra: I have had no great loss then?
Ink:                                                 Loss! – such a palaver!
        I’d inoculate sooner my wife with the slaver
        Of a dog when gone rabid, than listen two hours
        To the torrent of trash which around him he pours,
        Pump’d up with such effort, disgorged with such labour, (50)
        That— come – do not make me speak ill of one’s neighbour.
Tra: I make you!
Ink:                   Yes, you! I said nothing until
        You compell’d me, by speaking the truth—
Tra:                                                                 To speak ill?
        Is that your deduction?
Ink:                                  When speaking of Scamp ill,
        I certainly follow, not set an example. (55)
        The fellow’s a fool, an impostor, a zany.
Tra: And the crowd of to-day shows that one fool makes many.
        But we two will be wise.
Ink:                             Pray, then, let us retire.
Tra: I would, but—
Ink:                   There must be attraction much higher
        Than Scamp, or the Jews’ harp he nicknames his lyre, (60)
        To call you to this hotbed.
Tra:                                       I own it – ’tis true –
        A fair lady—
Ink:                   A spinster?
Tra:                                       Miss Lilac!
Ink:                                                           The Blue!
        The heiress?
Tra:                   The angel!
Ink:                                       The devil! why, man,
        Pray get out of this hobble as fast as you can.
        You wed with Miss Lilac! ‘twould be your perdition: (65)
        She’s a poet, a chymist, a mathematician.
Tra: I say she’s an angel!
Ink:                              Say rather an angle.
        If you and she marry, you’ll certainly wrangle.
        I say she’s a Blue, man, as blue as the ether.
Tra: And is that any cause for not coming together? (70)
Ink: Humph! I can’t say I know any happy alliance
        Which has lately sprung up from a wedlock with science.
        She’s so learned in all things, and fond of concerning
        Herself in all matters connected with learning,
        That—
Tra:         What?
Ink:                   I perhaps may as well hold my tongue; (75)
        But there’s five hundred people can tell you you’re wrong.

– Lord Byron

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V. B. Nimble, V. B. Quick – John Updike

V. B. Nimble, V. B. Quick

V. B. Wigglesworth wakes at noon,
Washes, shaves and very soon
Is at the lab; he reads his mail,
Swings a tadpole by the tail,
Undoes his coat, removes his hat,
Dips a spider in a vat
Of alkaline, phones the press,
Tells them he is F.R.S.,
Subdivides six protocells,
Kills a rat by ringing bells,
Writes a treatise, edits two
Symposia on “Will man do?”,
Gives a lecture, audits three,
Has the sperm club in for tea,
Pensions off an ageing spore,
Cracks a test tube, takes some pure
Science and applies it, finds
His hat, adjusts it, pulls the blinds,
Instructs the jellyfish to spawn,
And, by one o’clock, is gone.

– John Updike

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