Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
When dried the terrapin can naught express
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
And let you off from your opinions glum
The bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum