1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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