He bent right down to pick up his valise
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
The understanding critic firstly sees
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
The best of all things to an end must come