He bent right down to pick up his valise
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
The Turks said just take anything you please
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
The genealogist with field and fess
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?