1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum