1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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