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Hogarth judge

December 2017

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Hogarth judge

O! that my soul. . .

Q! thæt my soul a mærrow bone mi3ht seize!
För the old egg of my desire is broken;
Spilled is the pearly white, and spilled the yolk, and
As the mild melancholy contents grease
My pæth, the shorn lamb baas like bumblebees.
Time's trashy purse is as a taken token
Or like a thrilling recitation, spoken
By mournful mouths filled full of mirth and cheese.

Ænd yet, why should I clæsp the earthful urn?
Or find the frittered fig thæt felt the fæst?
Or choose to chase the cheese from out the churn?
Or swallow any pill from out the pæst?
Ah, no, Love! not while your hot kisses burn
Like a potato riding out the blæst!

Comments

Welcome! Nice uncials! (or something!?!)

Andy says:
I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls
and each damp thing that creeps and crawls
went wobble, wobble on the walls.

(Also there's a mouse in here.)