There was a Young Lady of Poole, Whose soup was excessively cool; So she put it to boil, by the aid of some oil, That ingenious Young Lady of Poole.

There was an Old Man with an owl, Who continued to bother and howl; He sate on a rail, and imbibed bitter ale, Which refreshed that Old Man and his owl.

There was a Young Person in pink, Who called out for something to drink; But they said, 'O my daughter, there's nothing but water!' Which vexed that Young Person in pink.

There was a Young Lady of Poole, Whose soup was excessively cool; So she put it to boil, by the aid of some oil, That ingenious Young Lady of Poole.

A vile beastly rottenheaded foolbegotten brazenthroated pernicous piggish screaming, tearing, roaring, perplexing, splitmecrackle crashmecriggle insane ass of a woman is practising howling below-stairs with a brute of a singingmaster so horribly, that my head is nearly off.

It takes a long time to make a painter - even with a good artist's education - but without one it tries the patience of Job; it is a great thing if one does not go backward.

When awful darkness and silence reign Over the great Gromboolian plain, Through the long, long wintry nights.