1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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