1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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