1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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