1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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