1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3replies like this the dumbstruck brain may tease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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