Dear Frank, that home page where you boast
You keep a record true
Of every kind of peppered roast
That's made of you;

Wherein you paste the printed gibes
That revel round your name,
Thinking the laughter of the scribes
Attests your fame;

Where all the pictures you arrange
That comic pencils trace --
Your funny figure and your strange
Rustic face --

Pray lend its URL to me. Wit I have not,
Nor art, but there I'll list
The daily drubbings you'd have got
Had God a fist.