1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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