Praise

“I can’t praise you,” exclaimed the man of copper,
Burnished by his own empty self-praise.
“It’s early days,” he cried, “It’s early days,
And praise comes truest doled out by eyedropper.”
“Stop jumping round just like a damned grasshopper,”
She told him. “That old nonsense only plays
In Scottish castles: ‘All our yesterdays,’
And so on.” He swallowed down a huge gobstopper.

“You’re such a pig,” she told him. He demurred,
Saying the woman wasn’t beddable,
Plug-ugly, and her pies inedible,
And she responded with a filthy word,
Remarking she had never baked. “I heard,”
She said, “Your praise was never credible.”