[Brian Allgar]

I do not like thee - why, I cannot say.
Is it thy breath, that reeks of rancid onions?
Is it thy feet, deformed by warts and bunions?
Thy nasal hair, exuberant and grey?

Thy scabby pate, thy brow grotesquely simian?
Thy lurching gait, thy swinish bloodshot eyes?
Thy buttocks, like a pair of flaccid pies?
Thou couldst not be mistaken for Endymion!

Thy raucous voice, thy sneering and thy snarling,
Thy violent tantrums, and thy vicious temper
Surpassing dogs with rabies or distemper -
In short, I’d find it hard to call thee “Darling”.

Perhaps, above all else, that fæcal smell
Is why I do not like thee, Doctor Fell.