1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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