1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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