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Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
He bent right down and well what did he seize
And empty cages show lif'e bird has flown
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
Th'outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
Platonic Greece was not so talentless
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum