1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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