Uly Poe pens dogg'rel verse. "'Tis fun," hums Uly, "I disburse." The gamut runs from bad to worse. The matter treated...? Quite diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a blessing largely. (Not a curse.)
 |
"Quo:Quid::COV:ID" |
e'en Jews would leave sluggish:
The
Merchant of Venice.
Which
threat -- sore unfounder'd --
looms, Van-Dyked ‘n’ thuggish…?
The
Fur-Chin-Tough Menace.
Moral:
Some qualities of mercy strain’d,
while dreadful, leave us entertain’d.
