1When one with t’other straightaway agrees
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum