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A RHYMER'S COMPLAINT

Surely no other language that is known
So handicaps poor rhymers as our own,
Or causes them so much to sweat and swear
When seeking for the rhyme that is not there:
By this at every turn the poet's baffled,
As I am now—for how to bring in 'scaffold'
Would puzzle even Swinburne—so would 'raffled'
And these are all the rhymes that you can use—
A pretty choice to set before the muse!
If you're in love you have to lug in 'dove,'
'Her glove,' or else appeal to 'heaven above,'
There's no alternative, alas! but 'shove,'
For 'move' and 'prove' are makeshifts at the best,
Though you must oft with them contented rest.
Suppose you write of something that doth gladden,
To find your choice is limited to 'sadden'
Or 'madden' makes you mad as any hatter,
And fit your head against the wall to batter:
Then too when you have said your love's a pattern,
It's hard to find that you must drag in 'slattern';
'Tis Hobson's choice; as also 'tis with amorous,
To which the only rhyme, alas! is 'clamorous.'
When you are praising Amaryllis' beauty
What can you do with 'sooty,' or with 'duty'?

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