1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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