Me heart-strings are riven;
I've struggled and striven
To pen a neat melody,
            Neatly rhymed;
But the lilt of it's awful,
The metre's unlawful;
The soft and the heavy are
            Badly timed.

I'm in a quan-dary;
Me large diction-ary
Of rhymes, it refuses to
            Ease my state.
The Muses they shun me;
It's dawnin' upon me
I'm ridin' old Pegagsus
            Overweight.

Despite how I whip, it
Refuses to trip it,
But flunders and falters and
            Breaks its stride.
Oh, Muse!  Am I clever?
Pray tell me if ever
This poor, patient poet will
            Learn to ride.

Whatever I do, me
Gross flesh will hang to me.
I've trained and I've dieted
            Past belief.
Still I roll and I pitch, an'
Me side's got the stich, an'
Oh, Muses!  I'm sufferin'!
            Grant relief!

I've tried ev'ry diet
From peaches to suet --
Mow that rhyme is rotten I
            Must admit.
But you'll find if you try it
There's no rhyme to diet,
Tho' that one's another that's
            Near a fit.

I'm bound to confess it,
I'm stiffened, and -- yes, it
Is awful to know Pega --
            Sus will trot 
When I want to canter.
Pray, pass the decanter.
"Decanter" and "canter!"  Now,
            Ain't that rot?

I've lived for week on
"Pale moons" without squeakin',
Existed for months on a 
            "Sunset glow."
It's turnin' me brain, an'
I'm full up of trainin';
I'm goin' to stop.  Wo, then!
            Pegasus.  Wo!

And now, just a few words.
Hi!  Call up the stewards!
Oh, rub me out, gentlemen --
            Off the slate.
Don't tarry to try me --
Just disqualify me --
I'm ridin' old Pegagsus
            Overweight.

"C.J.D."
The Critic, 14 December 1904, p13