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Poem by Richard Harris Barham Manipulation Oh, my head! my head! my head! Lack! for my poor unfortunate head! Mister de Ville Has been to feel, And what do you think he said? He felt it up, and he felt it down, Behind the ears, and across the crown, Sinciput, occiput, great and small, Bumps and organs, he tickled 'em all; And he shook his own, as he gravely said, 'Sir, you really have got a most singular head! 'Why here's a bump, Only feel what a lump; Why the organ of "Sound" is an absolute hump; And only feel here, Why, behind each ear, There's a bump for a butcher or a bombardier; Such organs of slaughter Would spill blood like water; Such "lopping and topping" of heads and of tails, Why, you'll cut up a jackass with Alderman S—.' [Caetera desunt.] Richard Harris Barham Richard Harris Barham's other poems:
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