1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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