1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5Old Galileo’s Pisan offerings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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