He bent right down to pick up his valise
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum