1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum