Alack, what poverty the Muse brings forth;
Last night, mine eyes did witness humor’s death.
Comedic lines with not Thalia’s worth;
Fatiguéd jokes from liars’ jesters’ breath;
Where laughter from my lungs should be expell’d,
Instead but questions come to trouble me:
How can such jokes be told but unrebell’d?
Should not such mocking jesters punish’d be?
But Lo! ‘tis true! these jesters are but few
Of many who of me have joked unfair!
O! how I wish to see them looked into!
Perhaps arrested for their jokes’ foul air?
     That jesters can unpunish’d me abuse,
     Is crime more real than they of me accuse!