1When one with t’other straightaway agrees
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum