Over night, was all mud and not fit to be seen;
And, to dock a long tale, since that day thrice a-week,
Or four times, perhaps, more or less, so to speak,
I’ve diskivered that thare,
Identical mare,
Or else the black Barb, vich, perhaps you’ll remember
Vas brought here from over the seas last September,
In the state I describes, as if fairies or vitches
Had rode ’em all night over hedges and ditches;
If this here’s to go on (and I’m sure I don’t know