1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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