Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
He bent right down and well what did he seize
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Filching the lolly country thrift helped save
They both are right not unformed smatterings
Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
The genealogist with field and fess
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
The best of all things to an end must come