Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
The genealogist with field and fess
A piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
The best of all things to an end must come