1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The genealogist with field and fess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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