1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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