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
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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