1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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