The Book of Humorous Verse, O-U-G-H

|a fresh hack at an old knot|

I'm taught p-l-o-u-g-h S'all be pronouncé "plow." "Zat's easy w'en you know," I say, "Mon Anglais, I'll get through!"

My teacher say zat in zat case, O-u-g-h is "oo." And zen I laugh and say to him, "Zees Anglais make me cough."

He say "Not 'coo,' but in zat word, O-u-g-h is 'off,'" Oh, Sacre bleu! such varied sounds Of words makes me hiccough!

He say, "Again mon frien' ees wrong; O-u-g-h is 'up' In hiccough." Zen I cry, "No more, You make my t'roat feel rough."

"Non, non!" he cry, "you are not right; O-u-g-h is 'uff.'" I say, "I try to spik your words, I cannot spik zem though!"

"In time you'll learn, but now you're wrong! O-u-g-h is 'owe.'" "I'll try no more, I s'all go mad, I'll drown me in ze lough!"

"But ere you drown yourself," said he, "O-u-g-h is 'ock.'" He taught no more, I held him fast, And killed him wiz a rough.