Don’t you knock upon my door, I find you utterly scurrilous
And don’t you deign to speak to me, you who are discourteous
A pathetic poet-singer, to think yourself a second Orpheus
No romantic poet, you, but a caricature hilarious
My, but you stand upon a pedestal precarious:
That you consider yourself the worthiest;
That of you any other would be envious.
You wonder that I dumped you at the earliest?
Fortunate you, I am no murderess
Else I’d swing for you, you jumped-up Perseus
So now take note and walk away, for to your pleas I am impervious