1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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