Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
His toga rumpled high above his knees
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
And let you off from your opinions glum
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum