1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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