1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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