1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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