1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Southern baroque’s seductive dialogue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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