1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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