When one with t'other straightaway agrees
The bull's horns ought to dry it like a bone
Her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
And loudly sang off-key without a tone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
Rejecting ermine to become a knave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
Ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum