1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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