Good King Brownceslas had brown'd The thrones of many a nation; None than he was more renown'd For bow'lish lubrication. Foul wizardes schem'd against the King, Old Archimage and Merlin, But never could they find the thing To cease his dreadful cu-ur-lin'. Oft, he scoff'd at their fromage Their meates and fatty luncheons, For naught that they devis'd would lodge, Tho hard as rubber truncheons. His movements pass'd each ere the last Did kiss the gild'd storage Held by a youth (of servant caste) To catch the brownly po-or-ridge. Till once the youth did holde the vat Quite lower than was lawful, He caught a brimming mouthful that Tasted something awful. The kingly cack so full of fat It moved as tho predestin'd Till it stopp'd and linger'd at The page's large inte-e-stine. "Sire," quoth page with wrinkl'd brow And cheek all alabaster, "My flow is dam'd, I know not how, But fear it spells disaster!" "Calm ye," said the goodly lord, "Tho ye be strain'd and swollen," And fisted him until cack pour'd From his distended co-o-lon. Now my fing'ring child, observe How one does spread the mantle: Beware which way the coilings curve, With lordly girth substantial! Your only goal, to hold the bowl So still as it is laden - Or Good King Brownly, by my soul, Will use you like a ma-ai-den!!!!!