'Wordsmiths to the Gentry'?

Titus served in a pie, they allege,
Her children, and cut her a wedge,
Saying “Here is a treat,
Meaty, juicy and sweet -
But remember your five fruit and veg.”

Cripes, it's going to be a Limited Company. I thiought of her but I couldn't get it right. Well done, Brian.

Zeus's Lad

Brave Perseus insisted the Graeae assisted
His quest to bring Medusa falling;
So, he stole the crones' eye to thereby comply
With what was misogyny's calling.

(This seems to be the way to go: first write a limerick, then turn it into a piece.)

It was a pie to remember. The crust was baked to perfection; crisp, golden, and subtly impregnated with the juices within. The meat itself had been prepared in true halal fashion: the throats were cut and the blood drained into a basin, then the flesh was chopped up into bite-sized morsels from which every speck of fat had been removed.

The guests were delighted. Saturninus asked for a second helping, and then a third. Tamora declared it the most delicious meal she had eaten in a long time, and asked their host exactly what the ingredients were.

“Your children”, said Titus Andronicus.

Unfortunately, from that point onward, the evening degenerated, and the survivors were few. Among them was Lucius, who, on being proclaimed Emperor, addressed his people: “Friends, Romans, countrymen - meat pies are all very well, but do not forget your five portions of fruit and vegetables each day.”

Confessions of a Plagiarist
 

My children, listen; you shall hear my praises
Of poets who have coined my fav’rite phrases.
When just a tyke, I sang of childish things;
Of sealing wax, and cabbages, and kings.

My mom, a common walker of the night
Would take me to saloons where she’d get tight;
While ancient mariners, exceeding wise,
Into my ear would whisper “Plagiarize!”.

At one and twenty, eagerly I paid
My homage to the chicks who got me laid
With lines, which I with wanton license, took
From Mr. Bartlett’s fat quotation book.

Now, I’m a college don who lines his purse
With gems from Oxford’s Book of English Verse;
And I’ll purloin my rhymes and stanzas clever,
Forever and forever and forever.

Reports are just coming in from Egypt of a mass drowning. According to eye-witnesses, it began when a group of Israelite holidaymakers decided to return home by the shortest route. Their tour guide (“He was, like, ancient - had this long white beard, and he was waving some kind of walking-stick”) somehow caused the sea to part, which allowed the members of his group to walk home over dry land. The Egyptian army was on manouevres nearby, and decided to follow them in order to give their horses a canter over unfamiliar terrain, in this case the sea-bed. However, they were only halfway across when the sea returned to its usual place, and the army was swept away.

A representative of the Red Sea Travel Agency insisted that his company disclaimed all responsibility. “We’ve warned people time and again”, he said, “not to go swimming when the danger flag is up.”

The Gentleman From Massachusetts (a eulogy)
 

The Gentleman From Massachusetts (a eulogy)

Partying heartily, Edward Moore Kennedy
Felt an incipient sexual urge;
Casting his eyes on the young Miss Kopechne,
Whispered, “The beach is a place we can merge.”

Teddy was driving an Eighty-Eight Oldsmobile;
Mary was riding along by his side.
Teddy, while groping to help himself cop a feel,
Drove off a bridge and poor Mary Jo died.

Earnestly claiming it was a mere accident,
He buried her body in Quaker state ground.
Senator Kennedy’s chance to be President
Died on the same night that Mary Jo drowned.

Drowning his sorrows with oceans of alcohol,
Edward Moore Kennedy deadened his pain.
Blessed with a liver that seemed indestructible,
He finally died of a cancerous brain.

Oh bravo. What a horrible man that was, and horribe in so many ways.

When the dust had settled and the Norman army had disappeared over the horizon, Ælfric and Æthelbert rose gingerly from the pile of corpses where they had been playing dead, and surveyed the carnage around them.

“Well, that’s the end of England as we know it”, said Ælfric glumly. “We’ll become second-class citizens, and these Frog bastards will be lording it over us - not to mention our wives and daughters.”

“I dunno, Alf, it may not be as bad as you think”, said Æthelbert. “I mean, they’re human beings like us, ain’t they? Being ruled by Normans must be better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.”

Ælfric gazed sadly at the body of King Harold, lying in the mud with the shaft of an arrow protruding from his left eye. “You know what, Bert?”, he said. “I reckon you could’ve phrased that a bit more tactfully.”