What beasts these jungle men are,
You'd think they'd show much more care,
But after a row,
One might snatch up his bow,
And shoot his friend full of curare.
An Englishman's home is quite private,
But some guests inspire only hate,
If a French guest you chose,
Your cool you will lose,
While he's helping himself to your pate.
There once was a young man from Slough,
Whose rhymes were exceedingly rough,
The critics all said,
That his style was too staid,
But at least all his spelling was thorough.
- Curare is a type of poison made from tropical tree bark. It rhymes with "you are ray". Supposedly, it works its fatal work by relaxing the muscles of the body. This kills the victim because even the muscles which make his lungs work are relaxed into uselessness. It is therefore possible to save the life of someone poisoned with curare by giving him the kiss of life. After about fifteen minutes, the poison wears off, and you have saved the life of a hunter-gatherer of the jungle, who will then worship you as a god, or something. Now you see, you didn't expect to learn that from a page of limericks.
- True, the last word is a bit of a cheat because I have left off the accents, but this was an opportunity to have a dig at the French, and such things should not be missed.
- For American readers, "Slough" rhymes with plough, which you might spell plow, but that's okay, I forgive you.