1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum