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1846- . : ( ) , A Book of Nonsense ( ) , . , , , , , . , , , .
There was an Old Derry down Derry,
Who loved to see little folks merry;
So he made them a Book,
And with laughter they shook
At the fun of that Derry down Derry.
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There was an old man of Ancona,
Who found a small dog with no owner,
Which he took up and down,
All the streets of the town;
That anxious old man of Ancona.
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There was an Old Person of Gretna,
Who rushed down the crater of Etna;
When they said, Is it hot?
He replied, No, it's not!
That mendacious Old Person of Gretna.
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There was a young lady in white,
Who looked out at the depths of the night;
But the birds of the air,
Filled her heart with despair,
And oppressed that young lady in white.
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There was a Young Lady of Russia,
Who screamed so that no one could hush her;
Her screams were extreme,
No one heard such a scream,
As was screamed by that lady of Russia., - -, : scream , , crush ! , , , , , , , , . : , , - - , !
The Self-Portrait of the Laureate of Nonsense
How pleasant to know Mr Lear!
Who has written such volumes of stuff!
Some think him ill-tempered and queer,
But a few think him pleasant enough.
His mind is concrete and fastidious,
His nose is remarkably big;
His visage is more or less hideous,
His beard it resembles a wig.
He has ears, and two eyes, and ten fingers,
Leastways if you reckon two thumbs;
Long ago he was one of the singers,
But now he is one of the dumbs.
He sits in a beautiful parlour,
With hundreds of books on the wall;
He drinks a great deal of Marsala,
But never gets tipsy at all.
He has many friends, laymen and clerical;
Old Foss is the name of his cat;
His body is perfectly spherical,
He weareth a runcible hat.
When he walks in a waterproof white,
The children run after him so!
Calling out, Hes come out in his night-
Gown, that crazy old Englishman, oh!
He weeps by the side of the ocean,
He weeps on the top of the hill;
He purchases pancakes and lotion,
And chocolate shrimps from the mill.
He reads but he cannot speak Spanish,
He cannot abide ginger-beer:
Ere the days of his pilgrimage vanish,
How pleasant to know Mr Lear!
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