1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb