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
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
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
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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