I take it you already know
Of tough and bough and cough and dough?
Others may stumble, but not you,
On hiccough, thorough, slough and through.
Beware of heard, a dreadful word, That looks like beard but sounds like bird.
And dead: It’s said like bed, not bead – For goodness’ sake, don’t call it deed!
Watch out for meat and great and threat… They rhyme with suite and straight and debt.
A moth is not the moth in mother, Nor both in bother, nor broth in brother.
And here is not a match for there, Nor dear and fear for bear and pear,
And then there’s dose and rose and lose – Just look them up – and goose and choose.
And cork and work and card and ward, And font and front and word and sword.
And do and go, then thwart and cart, Come, come, I’ve hardly made a start!
A dreadful language? Why, sakes alive! I’d learned to speak it when I was five.
And yet, to write it, the more I tried, I hadn’t learned it at fifty-five
Not sure if that’s the name of the poem. It’s been (mis)attributed to a T.S. Watt, called “English”. A similar poem is The Chaos by Gerard Nolst Trenité, here read by Youtuber Lindybeige.
The King’s English
I take it you already know
Of tough and bough and cough and dough?
Others may stumble, but not you,
On hiccough, thorough, slough and through.
Beware of heard, a dreadful word, That looks like beard but sounds like bird.
And dead: It’s said like bed, not bead – For goodness’ sake, don’t call it deed!
Watch out for meat and great and threat… They rhyme with suite and straight and debt.
A moth is not the moth in mother, Nor both in bother, nor broth in brother.
And here is not a match for there, Nor dear and fear for bear and pear,
And then there’s dose and rose and lose – Just look them up – and goose and choose.
And cork and work and card and ward, And font and front and word and sword.
And do and go, then thwart and cart, Come, come, I’ve hardly made a start!
A dreadful language? Why, sakes alive! I’d learned to speak it when I was five.
And yet, to write it, the more I tried, I hadn’t learned it at fifty-five
Not sure if that’s the name of the poem. It’s been (mis)attributed to a T.S. Watt, called “English”. A similar poem is The Chaos by Gerard Nolst Trenité, here read by Youtuber Lindybeige.
My mistake. I had it saved in an old note. Thanks for the correction!
🤔