1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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