He bent right down to pick up his valise
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
The Turks said just take anything you please
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
The genealogist with field and fess
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum