From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum