1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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