1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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