The romance is gone

The romance is gone
The chest has been rippled,
the bodice ripped;
the manhood’s been handled,
the sailor shipped.
Oh, Harlequin, Harlequin,
you illiterate clown!
You cut loose your jib
when the profits went down.
Stop all the washers,
fold all the clothes;
cry horny housefraus,
the doors have been closed.
Oh, Harlequin, Harlequin,
Queen of the dross!
What hope for your readers
on stormy seas tossed?
Once more in the breeches,
the pirate lord cries;
while the maids he beseeches
wipe tears from their eyes.
Hey, I just made that up! Next stop, Harlequin! Oh wait. They’re laying off people like me. Does this mean there will be four percent less heaving bosom? Four percent less hard manhood? Sigh. I don’t know if Fabio can have four percent less without being diagnosed with a condition.