1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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