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Pribbling plume-plucked pig-nuts ‘come ashamed
Before the witch’s roguish mangled face.
Her artless ways befoul, her gaze doth maim.
Disgraceful ways she fears not to embrace.
She speaks stripped of the soundness of the mind,
Yet to her mates she ‘pears a great delight.
Her words are reeked, her peers she does malign
Her ‘tentions laced with darkness of the night.
Her eyes reflect the emptiness of gloom,
The hair falls like a shroud of misery.
Behind her smile, there lurks impending doom.
One look arouses sheer abhorrency
The glass is smeared, the light is dimmed, but how
That frightful spiteful sprite resembl's a sow?