He bent right down to pick up his valise
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum