Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
The learning linguist cameramaniac sings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
The genealogist with field and fess
What things we did we went the whole darned hog
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum