1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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