1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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