1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum