1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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