1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
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
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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