Brough, the Borough engineer, laughed, "faugh!" and took fright as he coughed roughly then thoroughly thought through the size of the bough he brought on his sleigh from the dough maker's heightened drought-ridden tree with the chough, near the Lough in Wroughton, right by the bight at the end of the bright night. Though haughty, he fought toughly to light it, despite the draught. Although it felt lighter now, might be nought, or even naught, he thought, while Gough's nightmare plight was to be nigh and full of fight, as Clough's eighth righteous daughter, in sight with Vaughan and Waugh, ought have sought to have wrought the plough with the wheelwright in the trough as the high wind soughed despite the blight.
Enough!

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