1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known

5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb