1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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