The Poet and the Copy-Writer

Osric, a poet

Oswald, an advertising man

Osric: My hair is falling out, and no one reads my poems.

Oswald: My liver is bad, and everyone reads my ads.

Osric: Alas, I am marginal to the economy.

Oswald: Alas, I am central to the economy.

Osric: Of course, you had to sell your soul.

Oswald: And you were unable to sell yours; perhaps I could

write you an ad?

- Nemerov