1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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