1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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