1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave

9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness

12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?