1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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