Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
Old Galileo's Pisan offerings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum