1When one with t’other straightaway agrees
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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