1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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