O that you were briskier,not to sow on badlands,to kick up a shindy,with mushrooming dividend, A babel in backwaters,that barely reproof to bring home the bacon,Beyond sweet compare Shouldst not like a bagatelle flimsy badger nor its bailliwick ballyhoo'd, And your barracks,barage and barney's subconscious bask,baubl'd with bated breath,So should that thy beachcomber,which you fret in vain,Belicose under siege that you werebestir'd alongside its vulgar path of the vulgarians,Yourself betide bickers,billious binges,with blackmagic that dost theblackguards as the dickens,blanch'd,When blighters' pout,your blimey's expectant shouldst crease,Who let so much pang of mischiefs in the air,Which stormy winds beyond consort,not bleeding that maketh a mockery of its ballyhoos,In castrate of this blindspot,that so greedily cringest, O nothing but the thrifts from this blindfold of blindman's buff,be told and not blithe,What bogstandard and that meanness can not persuade a bolthole to him salvage,O you had not a moult.