I'd be a Parody, made by a ninny
On some little song with a popular tune,
Not worth a halfpenny, sold for a guinea,
And sung in the Strand by the light of the moon.
I'd never sigh for the sense of a Pliny,
(Who cares for sense at St. James's in June?)
I'd be a Parody, made by a ninny,
And sung in the Strand by the light of the moon.

Oh! could I pick tip a thought or a stanza,
I'd take a flight on another bard's wings,
Turning his rhymes into extravaganza,
Laugh at his harp--and then pilfer its strings!
When a poll-parrot can croak the cadenza
A nightingale loves, he supposes he sings!
Oh, never mind, I will pick up a stanza,
Laugh at his harp--and then pilfer its strings!

What though you tell me each metrical puppy
Might make of such parodies _two pair a day_;
Mocking birds think they obtain for each copy
Paradise plumes for the parodied lay:--
Ladder of fame! if man _can't_ reach thy top, he
Is right to sing just as high up as he may;
I'd be a Parody, made by a puppy,
Who makes of such parodies two pair a day!

_Sharpe's Magazine_.