1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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