This Town

I swear that this town (by the gods up above)

For all of its poets, it doesn’t have love

I vow that I’ll leave it when boat it comes in

Sail south with my true love, so life can begin.

I swear that this town has no style or taste

(Don’t cast your pearls here or your words you will waste)

I vow I’ll return when hell’s fires have froze

Or when dreams and dead men from dust have arose.

I swear that this town of all culture’s been bled

Just walk through the market and hear what is said!

I vow that the verse that their poet’s compile

Though proudly performed do still stink so vile.

I swear that this town may not be on its own

From England, some tell us, the spirit has flown.

I swear that to beauty most now are born blind;

Become this town’s poet? You’re out of your mind!