1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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