1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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