Come, hendecasyllables, all of you,
Whatever you number, anywhere.
A filthy slut thinks me a joke
And refuses to give me back our
Writing tablets, if you can bear to believe it.
Let’s pursue her and demand them back.
Who is she, you ask? That one – you can see her
Strutting shamefully, laughing nastily as if
In a mime with a face like a Gallic puppy’s.
Surround her, and demand them back,
‘Filthy slut, give me back my writing tablets,
Give me back, filthy slut, my writing tablets!’
You won’t do it for a penny. Oh the mire,
Oh the brothel, or what is worse if there can be worse!
But we shouldn’t assume even this is sufficient.
If nothing else can be done, we shall make her
Iron-like dog face blush from top to chin.
Call her again in a louder voice,
‘Filthy slut, give me back my writing tablets,
Give me back, filthy slut, my writing tablets!’
But we’re making no headway, she’s moved by nothing.
You must change tactics and approach
If you’re going to get any further:
‘Chaste and honest one, give me back my writing tablets!’