1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14the best of all things to an end must come
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