1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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