1The acid tongue with gourmet’s expertise
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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