1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone

5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum