Oh frabjous play!

Of water-clocks and printing-press, Oh Muses shriek your song! Of Walruses and Carpenters and what's the French for gong? The forty-seventh root of eight is difficult to smell, particularly (if like me) you've lost your nose as well. "And hast thou spain the Jelly-Knock? Come to my arms, my custard-cream? Oh frabjous play! Calloon! Belay (that order, Mr Dream!)" "I have large writing," spoke the Text, in incarnated letters; but Rory Bremner went insane and worshippéd his betters. 'Twas brilliant, but the tovey slimes did gibber gibber gibber wabe, all gibber were the gibber gibber

{End of the double-page spread}

WHY DID I WRITE THAT??