Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
It's one of many horrid happenings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
Thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can't depress
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum