Limerick There was an Old Man of Calcutta
There was an Old Man of Calcutta,
Who perpetually ate bread and butter;
Till a great bit of muffin,
On which he was stuffing,
There was an Old Man of Calcutta,
Who perpetually ate bread and butter;
Till a great bit of muffin,
On which he was stuffing,
There was an Old Man with a beard,
Who said, 'It is just as I feared
Two Owls and a Hen,
Four Larks and a Wren,
There was an Old Person of Chili,
Whose conduct was painful and silly,
He sate on the stairs,
Eating apples and pears,
There was an old man of Tobago,
Who lived on rice, gruel and
Till, much to his bliss,
His physician said this -To a leg, sir, of mutton you may go
How lost was my
Till Jesus made me whole
There is but one
Can cure a sin-sick
There was a Young Lady of Lucca,
Whose lovers completely forsook her;
She ran up a tree,
And said, 'Fiddle-de-dee
There was an Old Person of Wick,
Who said, 'Tick-a-Tick,
Tick-a-Tick;
Chickabee,
St George he was for England,
And before he killed the dragon He drank a pint of English ale Out of an English flagon
For though he fast right readily In hair-shirt or in mail,
It isn't safe to give him cakes Unless you give him ale
Once it was the colour of
Soaked my table the uglier side of a
With a capsized field where a school sat
And a black and white patch of girls grew playing;
The rain was ending, and
Lifting the leaden skies
It shone upon ceiling and
And dazzled a child's eyes
It was you,
Atthis, who said "Sappho, if you will not get up and let us look at you I shall never love you again
"Get up, unleash your suppleness, lift off your Chian nightdress and, like a lily leaning into "a spring, bat...
It was not dying: everybody died
It was not dying: we had died before In the routine crashes— and our fields Called up the papers, wrote home to our folks,
And the rates rose, all because of us
We died on the wrong page of the almanac,