1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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