1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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