1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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