1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum