A Soliloquy Of The Full Moon, She Being In A Mad Passion

Now as Heaven is my Lot, they're the Pests of the Nation! Wherever they can come With clankum and blankum 'Tis all Botheration, & Hell & Damnation, With fun, jeering Conjuring Sky-staring, Loungering, And still to the tune of Transmogrification-- Those muttering Spluttering Ventriloquogusty Poets With no Hats Or Hats that are rusty. They're my Torment and Curse And harass me worse And bait me and bay me, far sorer I vow Than the Screech of the Owl Or the witch-wolf's long howl, Or sheep-killing Butcher-dog's inward Bow wow For me they all spite--an unfortunate Wight.…