1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum