from The Song of Stan, stanticle 7

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[1] How beautiful are thy paws with claws, O prince’s lurcher! The joints of thy thighs are supersized, the work of the hands of a prize-winning special effects artist.
[2] Thy belly is protuberant as a goblin’s, which wanteth not for scratching; thy underbits are like an heap of treats set about with squeakers
[3] Thy breath is like a road to nowhere
[4] Thy neck is as a worn beach towel derisory; thine eyes strictly wishful and advisory; thy nose has the power of Lucifer, and ever looketh toward dinner
[5] Thine head upon thee is like a camel, and the hair of thine head like a flannel; nothing much is held in the galleries of thine brain, as we oft are driven sorrowfully to explain
[6] Howl fair and howl unpleasant dost thou, O lord, for the love of God make it stop
[7] This thy stature is like to a rickety clothes horse, and thy vapours to clusters of apes
[8] I said, I will go over the park with thee, I will take hold of the lead thereof: now also from my pockets extract numberless treats, and you shalt take thy fill, and I shalt feed them to thee, bravely, like pine logs through a sawmill
[9] And the roof of thy mouth liketh to whine for thy beloved spot on the sofa, that goeth oft to thy rival Lola, causing the lips of he who hast been too slow again to speak, in fulsome irritation
[10] I am my beloved’s, and his desire is toward me (or any that doth have access to cheese)
[11] Come, my beloved! Let us go forth into the field; let us dodge the horses
[12] Let us get up early to the backyard; let us see if the vine flourish, whether the tender grape appear, and the pomegranates bud forth; failing that, we’ll just go for a walk
[13] Man dogs do give a smell, so our place has all manner of boujee diffusers, new and dried out, which we have laid out for thee. So do your worst, O my beloved.

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