1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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