Thine Canterbury Walrús

“Iche am hee, as thou art hee, and thou art me, and we beene alle togidres” Lo! Iche am he, and thou art he, As thou art me, ful verraily — And we, in sooth, beene alle as one, Alas! the worlde is overgon.

“See howe theye runne, lyk swyne yshot, See howe theye flye — I wep, I wep.” Beholde hem flee, as swyn y-shot, Out of the tube, they runne ful hot; See how they flit ful faste and hie — Iche maketh lamentacioun, I crye.

“Upon a corneflake do I sitte, Awaityng the van ful sluggardlye” Upon a flake of corne I sprawl, For cart or van I do ycalle. In corporat sherte, ful foule Tuesday, O man, thine heed hath gone astraye. Thou naughty knave, thy beard be long, It doth thee noght but wronge.

“Iche am the eggeman. They beene eggemen. Iche am the walrús. Goo goo g’joob.” Iche am the Eggeman, lo, ’tis sooth! And they the same, in deed and truth. Iche am the walrús, strong and wide, Goo goo g’joob, I thusly cried.

“Sir Policeman of the citée, sitteth proud in companye.” Sir P’liceman of the citée sytteth, With his brethren rounde he bytteth. See how they flyen, Lucy-on-hye, Lyk starrés brennynge in the skye. See how they runnen, ich am in wepyng, Ich am in wepyng — yis, tears ben crepyng.

“Yellow custard, of matter made, from eyen of a hound now fade.” Yelow mater, custard fell, From eyen of a hounde that quel; Crabalocker wyf of fish, And priestesse vile, ful lecherous wish — O wenche, thou naughty may, for shame! Thy knickers down — O, lack thy name!

“Sitteth I in garden greene, Awaityng sunnes warme sheen.” Iche sit in Englissh gardyn fayre, The sonne be hid, yet still I stare. If Phoebus shyne not o’er the lane, Thou shalt be tanned by Englissh rayn.

“Expert texperts, chokinge smoke, Fooles by jokers beene y-broke.” Expert, texpert, smoketh sore, They choke, they gasp, they breathe no more. Dost thou not know the jester’s glee? He laugheth loud at fooles like thee. See how they grin, as swyn in sty, They snort and snicker — Ich do crye.

“Semolina pilchards up the tow’r climb high, Penguin chanteth in strange crye.”

Semolina pilchards clambren fast

The Eiffel Tow’r, aloft and vast. A penguin sings Hare Krishna’s song, What magickes dark to us belong! Man, thou shouldst see their wanton showe, Kicking yond Poe, that man of woe.

“Iche am the eggeman, Iche am the walrús, Goo goo g’joob — sing we thus.” Yea, Iche am Eggeman bold and true, The walrús eke, as all men knew. Goo goo g’joob, the chant is high, A babble ’neath the lunatyk sky. Goo goo g’joob, joob, and more, A madness deep, from shore to shore.