1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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