1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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