1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2his exaltation shocked both youth and crone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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