1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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