1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
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
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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