Classic Poem

Why, how now dapper black,
I smell your gown and cassock,
As strong upon your back
As Tisdall smells of a sock.

To write such scurvy stuff!
Fine ladies never do't;
I know you well enough,
And eke your cloven foot.

Fine ladies when they write,
Nor scold, or keep a splutter.
Their verses give delight,
Are soft and sweet as butter.

But Satan never saw
Such haggard lines as these;
They stick athwart my maw
As bad as Suffolk cheese.