Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
Old Galileo's Pisan offerings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?