Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Nought can the mouse's timid nibbling stave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
The genealogist with field and fess
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Bard I adore your endless monologue
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum