1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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