Oh, Sacre bleu! such varied sounds
Of words makes me hiccough!
He say "Again mon frien' ees wrong;
O-u-g-h is 'up'
In hiccough." Zen I cry, "No more,
You make my t'roat feel rough."
"Non, non!" he cry, "you are hot right;
O-u-g-h is 'uff.'"
I say, "I try to spik your words,
I cannot spik zem though!"