The Ape (French Folk Tale)

There is an ape in Paris,

To which was given a wife:

Like many a one that marries,

This ape, in brutal strife,

Soon beat her out of life.

Their infant cries,–perhaps not fed,:

But cries, I ween, in vain;

The father laughs: his wife is dead,

And he has other loves again,

Which he will also beat, I think,:

Return”d from tavern drown”d in drink.

For aught that”s good, you need not look

Among the imitative tribe;

A monkey be it, or what makes a book:

The worse, I deem–the aping scribe.