When one with t'other straightaway agrees
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
Victorious worms grind all into the grave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum