1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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