Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

Damn the spirit ! Damn the letter ! Would to God I had your throat Blackening in my fists ! You humbug ! Grovel, or I’ll smash your head. Legacy ? You’ll leave me some bug (Won’t you, foetus ?) When you’re dead. Ugh ! I hate to prate as much as (Magpie, marker !) I hate you. Let me once get such a clutch as (Rhymes — that’s one and one — that’s two !) David got on Jacob — was it ? Muddleheaded, eh ? Perhaps I’ve no cellular deposit In my mind like Cambridge chaps. Swine and snob ! I hate your snotty Snarls — to heel, you mongrel ! — Steeth ! Once I ripped — εχτεινα ποτε Such another from beneath. You, you festering reptile ! Shelley Would have — I forget the place – Damn the place ! Up, Guards ! Impelle Hastam ! Smash you ! Foetus-face ! [114]