1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum