1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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