1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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