1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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