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
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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