That bastard Shakespeare called me bunch-backed toad,
helped Thomas More attest the attitude
deformity was proof of villainy.
My dunderheaded present-day defender
grew bedroom-eyed to see the handsome face
they plastered on a semblance of my skull.
(I’d have her, but I would not keep her long.)
She shuddered when they showed my twisted back,
refusing to believe my frame deformed,
as if it proved that all More’s words were true.
The straight-backed all are fools: a spine’s a spine.
Please keep blockhead buffoons away from mine.
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