I merely rhyme and versify.
Since my shortcomings I avow,
The story now, you must allow,
Trips lightly and in happy vein?
GILL: O, yes, father, though it is rather
Like some parts of your "Beltane."
MYSELF: How, child! Dare you accuse your sire
Of plagiary--that sin most dire?
And if I do, small blame there lies;
It is myself I plagiarise.

GILL: Why, yes, of course! And, as you know.
I always loved your "Beltane" so.

MYSELF: But don't you like the "geste" I'm writing?

GILL: Of course! It's getting most exciting,
In spite of all the rhymes and stuff--

MYSELF: Stuff?
Enough!
My daughter, you're so sweetly frank.
Henceforth my verses shall be blank.
No other rhyme I'll rhyme for you
Till you politely beg me to.
Now then, your blank-verse doom you know,
Hey, presto, and away we go!