1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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