Once again I must try: Mine hut to write or die, Yours not to reason why No sense is my sense 5 Mafeking's saved, and so 1 must acrhyming go, Heaven send me lots of Po-tied! licence Than when I've made my rhymes, Fit for the pantomimes, Vhey will adorn the "Times"
Splendid and solemn Tilo the "Standard" fly, Knock at the door and ery, Please put them into thy Agony column."
Monolith, pith, frith, kith, All end like Ladysmith, But it's iM rhyming with Lucknow or Delhi:
Yet, why put Delhi, when We' were beslowers then Where is my fountain pen Would I were Shelley "Bayonet." sounds so queer Call it a "naked spear" Thus T shall make it clear That I cold steel meant. "Nor was stern mettle shown By male and strong alone." There's an (I think you'll own)
Artful concealment.
"Sound for them the martial lay Bad line, but let it stay rhymes all day—
Cestle? T cannot spell—formed at with shot and shell, Fire, with resistless yell.
Mortar and pestle.
Powell, of endless fame," Your double-barrelled name Ss it besins the same)
Has a Bad en-ding Still, T must shove it in—+0, our stout, stubborn Baden, though worn and thi Stout at defending Forward through sound and sense Pounds are made up of pence Blow the remote expense Give me your penny Drain deep the foaming quart, Brewed of the good old sort, At Allansihangel Court, Abergavenny.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.