1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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