1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6signalling gauchos very rarely shave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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