1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14the best of all things to an end must come
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