1When one with t’other straightaway agrees
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4normal one aims to be and share the throne

5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the best of all things to an end must come