Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
When masons clutch the breath we held on loan
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
It's one of many horrid happenings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
We'll suffocate before the epilogue
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum