1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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