1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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