1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14the best of all things to an end must come
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