1When one with t’other straightaway agrees
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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