Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The Turks said just take anything you please
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
How it suprised us pale grey underlings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
And let you off from your opinions glum
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum