1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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