1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14the best of all things to an end must come
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