1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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