  "Beware the dog!" Beware the Logothete! The Octoped with elephantine feet: (I mean by this—with the big understanding; The Byzantine Pup of Theodore's branding.) A thousand years chained to Hellespont's brink, He never once whimpered or lapped up a drink. Hydrophobia? No! just aphasia, 'Cause he couldn't cross over to Asia. The old Logothete is the Watch Dog of State: He feeds upon figures (he'll cipher an eight!) And starts ev'ry meal with a twelve or sixteen, Then multiplies units to munch on between. Voracity thus as an integer stands For his diurnal gorge on multiplicands. Numerical strength makes the Logothete thrive, And fractions he dotes on—just eats 'em alive! He lashes his tail by Marmora's flood, But eats from the hand of Sultan Ahmud; A collar of gold, set with aquamarines, Makes him the envy of Justin's near-queens; His Kennel-Kiosque (the hyphen's germane!) Rivals the harems of Constantine's reign. Innocuous? No! nor yet desuetude, For he daily absorbs whole columns of food. His teeth are as sharp as the Damaskeene blade That severed the chains on the Macedon maid; And as keen as the knife avenging the dame Who was sold to the Sheik in Mesopotame. But the point that I make—no whimper or yelp Had ever been voiced by this Logothete whelp Until ArchÆologists, searching the grounds, Unearthed dogmatisms and bitumen sounds Of the highest known pitch, resembling a whine Or unrav'ling snarls of the Octopedine. And thus they've exploded the silence complete Tradition ascribes to the old Logothete And so, in unleashing this Byzantine Pup, They merit grave censure for digging things up. |
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