A limerick:
An epicure dining at Crewe
Found quite a large mouse in his stew.
Said the waiter, "Don't shout
And wave it about
Or the rest will be wanting one too."
And a Shakespearean sonnet.
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou beholdest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, which seals up all in rest.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
Spencer |
