1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14the best of all things to an end must come
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