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
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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