He bent right down to pick up his valise
Since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
They both are right not untamed mutterings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
With gravity at gravity's great cog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum