He bent right down to pick up his valise
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The understanding critic firstly sees
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
Old Galileo's Pisan offerings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
The learning linguist cameramaniac sings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The genealogist with field and fess
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum