The Trellion Crayde


(Millpond’s acknowledged masterpiece.)

O standynge freyles, stun the fuddok tryll,
Ond sleeks ye craylle, anont in savayge squalle,
Till even startlyngs make yon Hever styll,
Tho’ come the dullards – sayke be finders all.

Ye grayte deckirtle slapes all sooth behond
Ov flabbeous cruste, crirks thyne able nonce
On furroks olde thyes, a-swean, purladen fayles
Horrone thie wymploes, curtayne webyn payles
Ond lashes buttockes clemped agin the stroke
Whome mayk this dastarde flaylinge on ye bloke,
As may beseem to onders harde as nayles –
But ith for’all a paunce, which anye meight,
On quaintance be a wyser yet withoulden –
Come the day,
Of burdgeon crappies althe flixten thway!

Fathon patruel seaks ons fratarnyse,
Anent thyne laigens, crawled oft towardes
In thixtion tramble, or thee vipar’s pryse,
Yon greelen craydiss, pylpher halftnes fawles.

Ketreen, greight hofmeade, parten on theigh wayke.
Ond mask ye empreous clavir – styll an bryde,
As nonce in cumbrance sayne weir herynsayke,
The Trellion Crayde cam lastynge on the tyde.

O thuggeous muggir wath ye baysebawl batte
And cowardleigh wayse, thou cans’t nat crunden ought
To mayke aweigh whan grabbe ye ons th’ balles
Ond maks to squeil that waye – yon gleafull thoughte!

O skeffly squanderer a-sprawl yon laydie’s couch
Wence chypped potatose scatter aul arounde,
Denounce yo’ nayture fro’ ye Vagabonde,
Who mayketh fo’ hisself wyth sweaty hande…
This scrofulous wastrel – ‘spised of eavry manne!