1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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