Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
The Turks said just take anything you please
While sharks to let's say potted shrimps are prone
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
The colonel's still escutcheoned in undress
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
yet from the City's pie pulled not one plum