1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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