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
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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