1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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