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
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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