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Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
That hordes of crooks felt they'd more right to own
The understanding critic firstly sees
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
It's one of many horrid happenings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
Th'outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
Shallots and sharks' fins face the smould'ring log
Watching manure and compost coalesce
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum