When one with t'other straightaway agrees
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
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