Do Not Meddle

"Fee fi foe fum, I smell the print of a rhyme that's sung.
Do ray me far, I taste the cadence, sweet scansion to mar."

So concise was the vice, but I was caught.
So allow me this device and I'll speak, of sorts.
For the perfidious nub, aye, the rub,
Is that magic is real, and she bit with her zeal.

I am bewitched by a witch - which witch? You don't know.
This bitch makes me itch with her trick, oh so low.
For what time is still mine, I must speak just in rhyme
'Till a sign that i'm free shines on from the divine.

This lyrical hex,
Her duplicitous flex,
A perfect defect!
But all that I vexed
Were her gelatinous pecks,
Her collapsing necks
Her indeterminate sex...
Maybe she connects
My caustic pretext
As an aggressive test;
As a friend did suggest?

But my ire makes me tire, and I do desire
Company by the fire. Perhaps I can hire
You with a sip of strong ale - one more beer
Over here; thank you dear - it will soften the gale
Of discourse of this sort, from the source
Of my self; for my health I must speak
Though I seem as a freak, for this spell
Has a catch, as you can tell,
That as well as a glimpse
Of hell and her imps
I MUST SPEAK!

Yet as a man I was reserved.
Dignity was preserved
With a cautious restraint;
And though I was no saint
It was one bitter act.
Yet her vengeance has hacked
Such great chunks from my soul
That balance is lost - what's her goal?

Yet you flee from my lips
And at the door, as you trip
I can judge you no more
Than I was judged before.
Alone once again I must talk to myself
Unless you would grace me good sir?
Nor, nor I, by my health...