Bosun, hast thou seen my pelican,
Largish and blue as was Carybdis' dog?

I cannot stay – although your words so bland
Beguile me, neither whit I woot nor while,
For I have urgent business at the court
Which I eschew for smoking 'bune my pipe ...

Enough of this: my pelican I crave
With haunting music shall I bid him come
And house him once again aboard my sloop
Together with my twelve castrated frogs
My forty polecats – my menagerie
Of chipmunks, wimpy nuns, and other wights
Of purpose incomplete and scarcely whole
T'allay the anger of the long-dead mole.

I needs must leave, on pressing business bent.

A wily ruse was that to rid the Bosun
Of this fair place – or it of him, gramercy!
Let now my ready plan, as like the nest
Of pipit, threatened by the kestrel, when
The postal dues increase our civil strife
Beruhmt! I know not what it means indeed
To speak thus in such dull circuitous wise
Of vapour's indecision! I the rat
Should roundly circumcise whenas the moon
In Zeus's garments strides his garret through
To throw a pail of slops upon the road
And drown in mirth each philatelic star
Besonders! What is sanity to me?