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
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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