1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
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
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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