It turns out that Louis Pasteur
Was, psychically, less than all pure.
A room he’d secure
With a hidden peep viewer:
Old Louis was quite the voyeur!
Empirically writing, John Locke
Philosophized next to a loch.
The loch was Loch Lomand:
All Gaelic—not Norman’d,
So John Locke’s loch book was a lock.
My dad and I, we have a way
Of complicating words we say.
To you “percale” is our “purr-COL-lee.”
Excuse us once, just once per collie.
Hankered after spirits Scotchy.
(Barring that, some Nippon sake).
Sunday! Closed! He knew a gaucho,
Macho, Sunday-selling nachos.
Fibonacci’s macho gaucho nachos.
The lissome composer, Franz Liszt,
Was affected by labial lisps.
Proved the right remedies
To render Liszt’s lisp to a wisp.
Henry 8’s wife was lawn bowling.
Henry Percy saw, eyes rolling.
“Did he see more?” asked Jane Seymour.
“You may lose your head, Boleyn!”