From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
They both are right not untamed mutterings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum