1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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