The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
His toga rumpled high above his knees
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?