Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
The roundabout eats profits made on swings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
And played their mountain croquet jungle chess
Bard I adore your endless monologue
And let you off from your opinions glum
Soliloquies predict great things old chum