1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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