The wind's bastinado

The wind's bastinado

Whipt on the calico

Skin of the Macaroon

And the black Picaroon

Beneath the galloon

Of the midnight sky.

Came the great soldan

In his sedan

Floating his fan-

Saw what the sly

Shadow's cocoon

In the barracoon

Held. Out they fly.

"This melon,

Sir Mammon,

Comes out of Babylon:

By for a patacoon-

Sir, you must buy!"

Said il Magnifico

Pulling a fico -

With a stoccado

And a gambado,

Making a wry

Face: "This corraceous

Round orchidaceous

Laceous porraceous

Fruit is a lie!

It is my friend King Pharoah's head

That nodding blew out of the Pyramid..."

The tree's small corinths

Where hard as jacinths,

For it is winter and cold winds sigh...

No nightingale

In her farthingale

Of bunched leaves let her singing die.