1When one with t’other straightaway agrees
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave

9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the best of all things to an end must come