For vel kan skjebnen slå en man i kne. Men ydmykt bøie seg og ta til takke ? Jeg reiser heller stiv og stridig nakke og skriver et dikt i ny og ne.

Goooood morning !

Thou cursed Cook, with thy perpetual Noyce.
May'st thou be Capon made, and lose Voice,
Or on a Dunghil may'st thou spend Blood,
And Vermin prey upon thy craven Brood;
May Rivals tread thy Hens before thy Face,
Then with redoubled Courage give thee chase;
May'st thou be punish'd for St.Peter's Crime,
And on Shrove-tuesday, perish in thy Prime;
May thy bruis'd Carcass be some Beggar's Feast,
Thou first and worst Disturber of Man's Rest...