1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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