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
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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