1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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