Sentence The Fourhundredandninetyfirst 

The journeyman hack in our daily rag,

Has a daily woman wot does wot needs done;

A diurnal gossiping female gasbag,
Who only appears during the hours of the sun,

Her sins merely venial,

While his sins are mortal,

When weighed in the scales it is easy to tell,

Which one of them will end up in The Seven Bells on a Friday night!