A Pundit's Plea, just for thee.
                 By Thornton, Bill (yes, that's me).
                 How sad am I, a pundit, aye!
                 If punished for my pundit eye,
                 A puny shed, I'd need for stead,
                 In which to hide my punished head.
                 Upon a pun, I've said this one:
                 I'm not a Hun, put back your gun.
                 I said my pun to have some fun!

                        PUNDIT JUDGEMENT

                 The pundit's plea, as heard from thee,
                 Is certain nil, we all agree.
                 How glad am I, you pundit (fie!)
                 To punish you by Judgment hie.
                 Since puny stead is yours to dread,
                 As punishment for puns you've said,
                 Inside a tun, you'll get this one:
                 You're not a nun, your life has run.
                 By grotesque pun, you will be dun!

Notes:  Lines rhyme with original Pundit's Plea and also relate.
        hie = hasten
        tun = a large cask
        dun = dingy or dull grayish brown

                         PUNDIT'S APPEAL

                 Appellate Plea, is what's to be,
                 From judgment ill, I, pundit, flee.
                 Oh wretched I, a punster guy
                 Now punished for.... I know not why.
                 One iron bed, in this I've bled,
                 For puny puns all in my head.
                 Oh where's the sun?  Nowhere to run?
                 Again, no hun, don't shoot this one.
                 Appellate one, let's have some fun!

                      PUNDIT JUDGEMENT, AFFIRMED

                 The pundit's plea, as heard from thee,
                 Is hardly one we all can see.
                 A solemn duty befallen I
                 Propels me forth to Judgment High.
                 So cover up your face of red,
                 And hide that punished shameful head.
                 We do affirm, for puns you've said:
                 To puny jail, by law your stead;
                 Though still, me thinks, you should be dead.

                         PUNDIT'S PRAYER

                 Oh Lord, I plea, if Lord there be,
                 Help me...help me...to be free.
                 I've said no lie, and yet I sigh,
                 There's judgments on my comments wry.
                 A simple bed, bad food I'm fed.
                 If you don't help, I'll soon be dead.
                 Why me they dun?  I've hurt no one!
                 No Hun nor nun, I'm just pun bun.
                 I'm done prayun, so now, Ahmayun.

*NOTE:  bun = intoxicated

                         PUNDIT PUNITION

                 The Lord I be, and I hear thee.
                 Your life shall be a misery.
                 Though Law I make, no Law I break
                 Your pundit sins deft took the cake.
                 No mercy ought, you punster sot,
                 'Cause, Satan, too, wants you not.
                 Now don't you dare, We are a pair.
                 Our Judgment's written in the air:
                 'Tis fair; 'tis fair.
                            'Tis fair; 'tis fair.

NOTE:  sot = drunkard

                           PUNDIT SALVATION

                 Pity, pity...pity thee
                 Help you?  Help you?  I shall see.
                 Though sorry rot has been your lot
                 Through sacrifice your soul is bought.
                 Those drops of blood were meant for crud;
                 The modern clay of ancient mud.
                 Arise dear one.  Resume your fun.
                 In glory's rays enjoy the sun
                 But take care always:  NO MORE PUN!

A pun does not commonly justify a blow in return.
But if a blow were given for such cause, and death ensued,
the jury would be judges both of the facts and of the pun,
and might, if the latter were of an aggravated character,
return a verdict of justifiable homicide.
Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr. (1809-94), U.S. writer, physician.
The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table, ch. 1 (1858).