From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
He bent right down and well what did he seize
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
Soliloquies predict great things old chum