1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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