Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum