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
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
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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