1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2when masons clutch the breath we held on loan
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6nought can the mouse’s timid nibbling stave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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