1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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