1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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