1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4normal one aims to be and share the throne
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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