1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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