1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum