1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone

5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum