1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14soliloquies predict great things old chum
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