1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone

5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum