Since upon Night's End I haggled the Thief
And dug Old Emotion a fresher deal
As I earned a Pound's Fine for my Relief
Whose Vermin sought my Gold in-debt my Seal
Which its Paste by supposed to pound in-check
And have one's Posts on Events we re-make
Upon this Print book where our Word's Prime met
Stuck Thorns forth Pages begets One's mistake
At last whence placed a Cork in your Mouth
And allowed Blood-Lillies to Fester and Grow
Such Types I abhor as they Spread to the South
Where Salt is Sweet as Owls melt into Snow.
Such Foolish Wisdom his Liver-Bound pervade
Hence a Hobbler's Cub brand Wisdom a Spade.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem