When one with t'other straightaway agrees
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
That suede ferments is not at all well known
They both are right not untamed mutterings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
Soliloquies predict great things old chum