"Namoore of this, for Goddes dignitee,
Quod oure Hooste, "for thou makest me
So wery of thy verray lewednesse
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
This may wel be rym dogerel," quod he.
—Geoffrey Chaucer, "The Tale of Sir Thopas" in The Canterbury Tales
“Doggerel” in French is vers de mirliton—a kazoo, you know.
In Spanish, it’s copia de ciego.
Knüttelvers is its German name,
An Arzneimittel (drug), I've read,
It'll wack you upside the head
And brain. In Dutch, alas, it’s kreupelrijm,
Putting legs into this crowded game.
It’s poesia burlesca, though, in Portuguese,
A language ever sure to please!
In Russian, it's нескладный
In Mandarin, 打油诗
Andドゲレル in Japanese.
If you can’t tell how these last three rhyme,
I pray you not to waste my precious time!
Your frontal lobes are quite unfit to scan
—a tragic case of unpoetic man.
And if you dare call my verses “doggerel,”
I shall in retaliation yell: “Why, go to Hell!
'Stand not upon the order of your going
[so Macbeth begs], but go at once,'
Not fit, as Auden said, 'to teach your grandmama to suck eggs,
much less critique her arts-and-craftsy sewing.'”
Honi soit qui mal y pense!