By my black soul, I swear the hurt to you
My defiant flaunt inflicted boasts no
Honored place in my conceit. It is low
In stature set as every nail knew
To be driven by my self-****** heart through
Submissive feet. Inverted was the bow
When the God in place put goat, who with blow
Of devised pipes prevailed the motley crew
To keep the seat. Apollo being true
To God challenged on the odd, even so
Proposed to sing and backwardly to flow
The music sweet. Marsyas from the view
Bowed his head in dread of pain to ensue
From the God exacting torture dropped slow
On a tree of no retreat. Out to mete
Nails in feet to cause a stream that I know
Reminds you how this flask I am serves two-
And one the God I beat- from skins of Pete.