Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
Old Galileo's Pisan offerings
Filching the lolly country thrift helped save
He's gone to London how the echo rings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
When dried the terrapin can naught express
With quill white-collared through his life will jog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
Soliloquies predict great things old chum