1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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