Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
He bent right down and well what did he seize
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
Soliloquies predict great things old chum