Pack a bag, Shmoopers. In fact, pack a couple. This poem is long, with lots of obscure historical and literary references (just check out our "Shout Outs"). It's written in that weird Restoration-era English that mostly makes sense, until words start showing up (like "supinely" and "drugget") that haven't seen the light of day in four centuries. But if you can slog your way through, what you'll find is an extremely clever, totally hilarious critique of a bad artist producing bad art—a theme which will never stop being relevant.