To fair L.A. the herald now commutes
And to the Simon Castle he imputes
A muse of fire in the Sage above the pool
That he too shall play our Omlet for the fool.

Lo, shall it be so? Methinks my vision shines!
To where Bold Belmont to his hobbyhorse repairs
To spin a scene upon our frosty aires,
And that good Pundit, time honored Tennessean,
Of his favor doth across the brindled sphere of blogs
The brazen call of trumpets far rebounding sound
To war, to horse, to breach, to brunch,
And finish off our Omlet before lunch.

…continued (or rather begun) here ^[1], where its author can be found (not Marlowe)… more soothing here ^[2]…