Torn
Worn
Oppressed I mourn
Bad
Sad
Three-quarters mad
Money gone
Credit none
Duns at door
Half a score
Wife in lain
Twins again
Others ailing
Nurse a railing
Billy hooping
Betsy crouping
Besides poor Joe
With fester'd toe.
Come then, my Fiddle.
Come, my time-worn friend,
With gay and brilliant sounds
Some sweet tho' transient solace lend,
Thy polished neck in close embrace
I clasp, whilst joy ilumines my face.
When o'er thy strings I draw my bow,
My drooping spirit pants to rise;
A lively strain I touch - and, lo!
I seem to mount above the skies
There on Fancy's wing I soar
Heedless of the duns at door;
Oblivious to all, I feel no more;
But skip o'er the strings
As my old Fiddle sings,
"Cheerily oh! merrily go!
"PRESTO! Good master,
"You very well know
"I will find music
"If you will find bow,
"From E, up in alto, to G, down below."
Fatigued, I pause to change the time
For some Adagio, solemn and sublime
With graceful action moves the sinuous arm;
My heart, responsive to the soothing charm,
Throbs equably; whilst every health-corroding care
Lies prostrate, vanquished by the soft mellifluous air.
More and more plaintive grown, my eyes with tears o'erflow,
And Resignation mild soon smooths my wrinkled brow.
Reedy Hautboy may squeak, wailing Flauto may squall,
The Serpent may grunt, and the Trombone may bawl;
But, by Poll, my old Fiddle's the prince of them all.
Could e'en Dryden return, they praise to rehearse,
His Ode to Cecilia would seem rugged verse.
Now to thy case, in flannel warm to lie,
Till call'd again to pipe thy master's eye.
(from Slonimsky's Book of Musical Anecdotes by Nicolas Slonimsky
in the original the lines formed the shape of a violin but it wouldn't work here. still as the swiss say avalanche is better than no lanche at all
new thingy picture under me name as well
slán
D C
:) But can you put a banana on his head? 
