1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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