1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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