1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum