Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
The Turks said just take anything you please
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
Southern baroque's seductive dialogue
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
The best of all things to an end must come