1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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