I love to stand upon my head
And think of things sublime
Until my mother interrupts
And says it's dinner-time.



A lobster wooed a lady crab,
And kissed her lovely face.
"Upon my sole," the crabbess cried,
"I wish you'd mind your plaice!"

Let us, then, give Nonsense its place among the divisions of Humor,
and though we cannot reduce it to an exact science, let us
acknowledge it as a fine art.





A NONSENSE ANTHOLOGY



JABBERWOCKY

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.