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

And if you voz to see my roziz As is a boon to all men's noziz, - You'd fall upon your back and scream - '" Lawk! O criky! it's a dream!"

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.

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.

They dined on mince, and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon.

There was an Old Person of Brussels, Who lived upon Brandy and Mussels; When he rushed through the town, he knocked most people down, Which distressed all the people of Brussels.

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.