Metrical Archimedes

As though I were some Han dynasty Chinese emperor buried beside his army of terracotta soldiers, I lay in my bubbly scented bath surrounded by a fleet loyal rubber ducks. An island of fleshy knee broke the surface but suddenly shifted and sank back below the rippling water line like Atlantis disappearing beneath the waves. Peace and tranquility and steam.
Chinese water torture? A piece of cake if you ask me? Love it! Bring it on! Meanwhile, I bask in this radiant pool and dream.
O'er hill and dale? ... within enchanted Elfin grot'? ... solitary pastures where our sheep half-asleep tinkle homeward thro' the twilight? ... I say "fizzy bath balls" to such conceited fancies one and all. Two taps and a claw foot tub is all I require to compose Heroic verse like The Bathwater Bawd