[Inkspot] I shunted thee to a most pleasant place where maidens fair would surely round thee flock Thy turn would there have seem'd to pass apace and yet thou placed'st versus me a block! But I will blight thee, and with thee thy house And every body who against me jeered A pox upon thy oxen and thy cows And may thy cousin's mother grow a beard! Thy tokens' colours all will change to pink Thy summers will be frozen, winters mild Thy quadrants shall be wobbly, and I think That all thy river-crossings will go wild. Old Ruttsborough could ne'er so vengeful be So as to wreak what I have wrought on thee.