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The Beshrewing of Tom o' Bedlam by Stewart Stafford
Fie and a plague on thee!
Nay, a pox!
May legions of hellions float through thee,
And may thou fall in the dung of an ox.
May the thing below thine eyes,
Take on the appearance of a sprout,
And may the things above thy chin,
Resemble a harlot's spout.
May Heaven strike thee dumb,
Aye, dumber than thou art now,
May thy words become those of a lunatic,
And thy breathing the grunting of a sow.
Verily, I do not wish thee misfortune,
Lest it rebounds back upon me,
But, as long as it befalls thee first,
I may live quite merrily.
© Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.
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