1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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