1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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