1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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