" 'Maria is a woman, was a rustle!'
'Then come in, Mary Jane, and finish it!'
Amid the glare and talking to the sea,
the porter pointed up beyond the door.

Before, when one attempted public sight,
some mothers bonneted the sailors' eyes,
the noise of sharing for a moment, hushed.
It ended by collecting butterflies.

Then Mr Cunningham continued life
---he never heard a light began again.
'O yes,' said Mr Crofton, saying it.
'A shameful thing, and bishops there, all his.'

Maria thought, decided to express
the other hand about his lower ribs,
a little pink and wholesome intercourse,
the other half an hour more askew."

--from The Dublin of Doctor Moreau