Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
They both are right not untamed mutterings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
Th'outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
The genealogist with field and fess
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
But I can understand you Brogher Gog
Poor reader smile before your lips go numb
And lessors' dates have all too short a sum