Classic Poem

Ah this is the cabenettye wishbox
Confesses more than any synner guesses
Foxe and dogge alyke have sealed the keyehole
Tyght their noses Holye Moses if your
Hearte is weake you'ld better waite 'till Fridaye
Pure and uglee fat cudly pushe athwarte
Thydaye is the cooke'sday and it's Piedaye
In the eveninge for the ladde what's her pah.

But Mondaye Tuesdaye Fridaye Thursdaye is
The same as Weddingsdaye and Brydesdaye tut
His heaven never pyctured her in glee
She cann't be sittingge there trustle fluffe
Must drye and skippe and lippe the lippe his juste
Oh why the thyghe the hyghe the tye that fruste.