He bent right down to pick up his valise
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
His toga rumpled high above his knees
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
The bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum