1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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