1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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