1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave

9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum