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
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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