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
'Ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
O Parthenon you hold the charger's strings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
The bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum