1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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