1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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