1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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