1When one with t’other straightaway agrees
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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