Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
Old corned-beef's rusty armour spreads disease
That suede ferments is not at all well known
The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
One tongue will do to keep the verse agog
Watching manure and compost coalesce
Bard I adore your endless monologue
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
The best of all things to an end must come