1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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