The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
His toga rumpled high above his knees
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
They both are right not untamed mutterings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum