THE TYPESETTER’S
KNIGHT MAYOR.
I have a spelling chequer
It came with my pea sea;
It plainly marques for my revue
Miss steaks eye cannot sea.
Eye strike a quay and right a word
And weight four it two say
Weather I am wrong or write-
It shows me strait away.
As soon as a mist ache is maid,
It nose bee four two late,
And eye can put the error rite,
It’s rarely, rarely grate.
I’ve run this poem threw it,
I’m shore yore pleased to no,
It’s letter perfect in it’s weigh.
My chequer tolled me sew.
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