1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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