Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
The understanding critic firstly sees
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
An icicle of frozen marrow pings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
From cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
In cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?