Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
The Turks said just take anything you please
Which neither time nor tide can long postpone
It's one of many horrid happenings
With sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
And let you off from your opinions glum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum