h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

The struggling Prime Minister
Starts turning sinister
When anyone one mentions the euro;
He makes a rude sign at the Bureau
And gets them all in a stir

I suggest that one should act passive
When approached by people "en mass." If
They should start to throw stones
And cry out to burn bones
Then just call your bodyguard, massive.

Sorry, that was a limerick, not a rimicle. Let me try that again:

Pay some alms,
Get your palms,
Church has become so boring
But that's no excuse for snoring
Or other qualms.

When Ludwig Beethoven
Grew tired of roving
The streets of Vienna, he'd slump
To his flat that resembled a dump
In a hat that was stove in.

A Clerickle:

Joseph Haydn
Had trouble decidin'
Whether to emigrate to Thrace
Or to stay in Vienna, the place
That he died in.

A Nother:

Monteverdi
Was no nerd, he
Composed the finest music ever written -
With one major gap. He wasn't smitten
By the hurdy-gurdy.

The prophet Elijah
If he sat beside you
Would cause you discomfort and pain
And if you asked him to refrain
I doubt he's oblige you

The High Dalai Lama
Was born to a farmer
In far-off southeastern Tibet;
If you wonder what caused him to get
Promoted, it's karma

Hate to be a boring old pedant ( really ) but HH the DL was born in Northeastern Tibet, in Amdo, not Kham. On a point of order, sir.
Meanwhile:

Berlioz
Sometimes chose
To get wrecked on dangerous drugs
Which would make him writhe on the rugs
And bruise his nose.

The great Johann Strauss
Was famed for his house
Kept spotlessly clean by the missus
To which he responded with kisses
And Die Fledermaus

Thanks Chaiwallah, I knew
I could depend on you
To put me to rights in my geog;
The points are on me, you can log
Yourself up a few

Johann S. Bach
Just for a lark
Wrote fugues that worked forwards and back,
Demonstrating that he didn't lack
The divine spark.

Unlike Rossini -
Don't call me a meany
If I say he wrote faster and faster
And churned music out just like pasta,
Melodic linguini!

Vita brevis, Ars longa.

Josquin des Pres
Was,you would say,
As near to the gods as we get.
His music's eternal, and yet
He is but clay.

The young Amadeus
Was put on display as
A prodigy by his fond daddy;
Though hailed as divine while a lad, he
Descended to chaos

Claude Debussy
Had a girl, Lucie,
Who inspired him to write his "La Mer"-
She had wonderful waves in her hair
And was wild, wet and juicy.

Monsieur Faure
At the end of the day
Said, "Tell creditors I will not see 'em!
Until I have sold my Requiem
I cannot pay."

Au contraire, my brother --
"La Mer" was his mother
Who called him a mischievous boy;
She hated his "Daphnis and Chloe"
Above any other

It's not so well known
Debussy had grown
To be misanthropic and seedy
And that's why he wrote "L'apres-midi"
For his mobile faune

When Guillaume Machaut
Felt lonely or low
He'd dash off a mass like a rocket,
With intricate rhythms like "hokket"
To give it some "go!"

While Guido d'Arezzo
Was using a fretsaw
He cut his Guidonian hand
But said to his pupils "I'm grand --
Take an intermezzo"