human
There, said he,
gpt
he continued, addressing himself to the young man at whose head he had thrown the manuscript,
human
I suppose your unintelligible friend calls that incomprehensible and unaccountable rubbish a sort of rough draught of a poem. I'm not learned in such productions, but methinks he that wrote of such lewd doings ought to be whipped at the cart's tail, or put in the stocks at least.
gpt
I was not aware, said the youth addressed, (and who under cover of his industry had been laughing all the time Master Grasp was reading the poem),
human
I was not aware William Shakespeare has ever written a poem about the gods.
gpt
cried Grasp, sticking his pen behind his ear and looking fierce, as he wheeled round and faced about, first to one and then to another of his clerks.