1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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