1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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