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
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
The learning linguist cameramaniac sings
In purest cradels tha's how they behave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb