1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess

12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum