A limerick-ish poem for WHAT TO DO WITH A DUKE because fun was not had by me whilst reading and I'm tired of being so serious in my reviews.
There once was a Duke known as Hart,
Playing at hot cockles not smart
With a rich merchant's daughter—
Oh the things that he taught her!
Now everyone says "She's a tart!"
Poor Isabelle committed no crime,
Save falling for a rake's practiced line.
"We'll be wed!" he did vow,
But his mum's such a cow.
So in the pudding club, poor Izzy did pine.
Now Izzy was lost and betrayed,
"Not good enough?", she raged and she raged.
Heartbroken she wept,
Into Loves Waters she leapt,
While the Duke of Hart played and engaged.
Her curse of his line was knotty and shirty,
Assuring all Hart men were nervous by thirty.
Five Dukes now have died,
Ere their first born son they spy,
A male heir ensures the Duke checks out early.
The price they must pay is quite clear,
A dire warning for all fooking cavalier.
Is there a way to reverse
Such a terrible curse?
Only if "Wed for love!" the Dukes will revere.
Hell hath no fury, I've heard.
But a curse like this is absurd!
'Twere me, I'd have wrenched
His manly bits as he blenched,
Not let him off lightly with words.
What to do with a Duke is its name.
The sizzle is weak, the spark, too, is tame.
Izzy's curse is just . . .lacking,
The "love" puns quite mad'ning,
I think I shall set it aflame.