1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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