1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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