1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11watching manure and compost coalesce

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum