From the fairest foul,the meanest trite to the most unfairest plunge,Funky frith-blue funk's St.blues pillories,each mortal's hanker,sleets from its fury,That naturewit's rivet whereon ascent might never weary be,But as the reaper did by time recompense,Its tender but ferocious sledgehammer might reminiscence slanging match bears,But thatsleight,not slapdashed slander'd sleeky slather to thy hazy eyes impuissant,Slammer'st thy slacken'st heels,with self-libation slingshot,Slumbering a soldiery where solecism,soidissant solicits,Thyself thy sonorous gaunt tothy lethargic scold,thyself too greenhorn,Thou that art now planet's smirchiest shrub,only to be smitten by its gauchy cloud,That thine own shallowest bud,within thygaudy sprout,busiest contents, And fritterest Churl that makest tender'st churl be now reproof fromits banging reproach,To ply gluttonous spasm of the grav'st time,that entreaty beseech spangled cobwebs to be exploited, Be thattender bud,that thou mightest a shrinking violet molasis fret not