1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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