1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3the Turks said just take anything you please
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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