Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of Jessup;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the San Diego ocean are sunk.
Now are his hands bound with victorious laurels;
His bruised and calloused fingers hung up for monuments;
His stern songs changed to merry meanderings,
His dreadful pickings to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged Euterpe hath smooth'd his wrinkled melodies;
And now, instead of using dreadful chords
To fright the souls of other musicians,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a banjo.

         -- R. I. Lockitor, Sharp Flats Are Natural
      (Merde-on-head, Shropshire: Lascivious Caperings Press, 1588).