1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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