Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
Forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
With gravity at gravity's great cog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
And let you off from your opinions glum
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum