My lord and lady, we have fortuitously happened upon these, er, strolling players, who will provide you with, er, goodly tunes while you set about your prandial delights... albeit in the lamentable absence of your guests. So, my lord and lady, for your entertainment!

The minstrel in the gallery looked down upon the smiling faces.
He met the gazes observed the spaces between the old men's cackle.
He brewed a song of love and hatred oblique
suggestions and he waited.
He polarized the pumpkineaters statichumming
panelbeaters freshly dayglow'd factory cheaters
(salaried and collarscrubbing).
He titillated menofaction belly warming, hands
still rubbing on the parts they never mention.
He pacified the nappysuffering, infantbleating
oneline jokers T.V. documentary makers
(overfed and undertakers).
Sunday paper backgammon players familyscarred
and womenhaters.
Then he called the band down to the stage and he
looked at all the friends he'd made.

The minstrel in the gallery looked down on the
rabbitrun.
And threw away his lookingglass saw his face in
everyone.