At Evening today, as the Sunne roistered his way down the Sky keening in a high voix the folksongs of outer space and I tuck'd in on three rashers of this century's bacon seal'd between two squares of artificial Loaf, I mus'd on the prospect visible from my Window, viz., the Utopia of Tower Hamlets, wherein every manner of childe may playe with or be abus'd by his Peers according to his Genetick Predisposition.
HOW VERY LIKE THE SUN, I thought loudly, to shyne so INDISCRIMINATELY on all, and as a partickularly generous Beame slotted into my Eye-ball I wonder'd how the children outside would regard its Jamming-in-a-Sack and subsequent Snuffing, and if they had to live their days by the light of the Moone, would they be so merry nowe eh? Wereupon I drove my knife through all three storeys of sandwich'd meat and stood to my full height, declaring that the SUN was friend to man.
The Sunne hath got his hatte on
And is coming oute to pleye
This pretty poesie I had heard in passyng a local infirmary for the Insane and I now humm'd it inward where it found full accordance with my Mentality. As I stood thus infested wyth Satisfacioun a bottle shot through my window at Velocity, tinkling litel my glass pane into hard and lethal rags, one fallyng into the meat leaving me quite incompetent of Speech.
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