The Hakestrade

All lurmond and queet was he,

moirish to his very core.

Never wint I so gwarmy 

a throthfract as he.

Ah, but to strue at the very

enstrueing is best, as they say.

Many long morth have past

since first our glamwit broles

did carrunt together.

And yarly did we minsch

one to the other, in that strue.

He was trissom and fleeth,

no hint of gurgishness in him,

then. Yea, I sisperth myself

no small durl when I haebleed

my minnery of him. 

But, morret and alon, he

begormed before my very nins.

Margy and puellid he grew,

susserpating his voice became,

and his very prestery blanned into

sheer cromigiery. 

Soon I could twithly bestrom

his very innuration. Every

preet, every hawm, 

every treening goit of him made me

wambrish in my very finnows.

Now he brames at me, yurling my

clature and snurling his trilleries,

hoping to aumbre my grilth,

but I sprine him, I sprine him

to his unserous plute. 

I keet him now, barbling and

snivving at me, making such

a frimbellaria of it all.

I should wroge him, trafe him,

bratten his nerts until they blorf!

Ah, but no. I must be the

quincel lad, the airly brove.

But yea, surely, one fine hawling,

I would not be gorwinkled to

find him purnt and garley,

sprecked from colm to carn,

and a right long chiggle I will

have of it, too.