1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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