He bent right down to pick up his valise
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
He bent right down and well what did he seize
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
The fertile mother changelings drops like kings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
And let you off from your opinions glum
Soliloquies predict great things old chum