1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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