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
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
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
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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