(Josephine Casta to her son, 
the Beatific Beatnik from Bow): 

Com ere, com ere, my son 
and learn wot crimes you don. 

First you don killed yor fader, 
then you don raped yor moder. 

But you knowed not wot you don, 
did you, did you my  son? 

There there, there there! donít fret: 
go prick yor eyes, my pet.