1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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