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
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14the best of all things to an end must come
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