A clerke there was, one Tomas Elyot hight; <br />‘Stearns’ wasse hys middel name; I think him so; <br />His gowne a cutte severe, sterne, clericale. <br />Hie werkéd in a banke; but lyked it not; <br />Preferring farre to be a publysshere. <br />Hie telleth of another clerke hys love <br />(thow sadnesse more thanne love, methinks it were..) <br />J. Alfred Prufrock wasse thys clerkés name; <br />Hie lyved in melancholie fasshyion, <br />Of chepesyde inns and wasteland wyndowes fogged; <br />Hie wasse so timide and soe fulle of feare, <br />Hie lyved a narrowe lyfe of caushyonne, <br />Hie knewe no joye, methinks; hym thoghte hymselfe <br />But born to serve some lorde in defferrense.. <br /> <br />This Elyot’s tale wasse shorte; I hoped itte so; <br />Methogte hysse lyfe but wasted wayle and woe.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/geoff-chaucer-reads-tom-eliot/
