1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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