On Blagging

Yea, Desmonde approacheth the haggisse nowe,
The jowels chawed and his boweles well tempr'd,
Blew a guste swich and coure alongst the grande beastie,
Withe the fource of a firth on the swaet lanes,
And dous'd het baggins in blowzy water dropplets,
He spake: Ye who blocketh the pathes of righteouse,
And art a mounster, through and to the bon,
And steale mens soules, and yea, enslave them,
I shall licke the fervour your caste trill off the beats,
and swallowe as the wind swayes the animales,
And the acte, whereupon it shall be committes forthwith,
In the presence of goode Christian men,
Shall be called naught but the Blagging,
Of which men of worldlie affaires may temperre their skill,
Againste all manner of Night-Creathures.