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
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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