1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum