1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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