1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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