He bent right down to pick up his valise
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
They both are right not untamed mutterings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
Bard I adore your endless monologue
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum