1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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