1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The genealogist with field and fess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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