1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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