‘Oyez, oyez!’ The Man Who Did Not Deliver
Is before you for his deliverance, my lords.
He stands, as charged
For This by banks, That cops, by lawyers, by
Publishingers for Them. I doubt he’ll make
I warned him, of a summer night: consist,
Consist. Ex-wives roar.
Further, the Crown holds that they split himself,
Splitting his manward chances, to his shame,
My lords, & our horror.
Behind, oh worst lean backward them who bring
Un-charges: hundreds & one, children,
The pillars & the sot.
Henry thought. It is so. I must sting.
Listen! the grave ground-rhythm of a gone
. . . makar? So what.