The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
It's one of many horrid happenings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The genealogist with field and fess
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum