Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
His exaltation shocked both youth and crone
The Turks said just take anything you please
That suede ferments is not at all well known
It's one of many horrid happenings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
Proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
Bard I adore your endless monologue
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum