Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
The showman gargles fire and sword with ease
Normal one aims to be and share the throne
They both are right not untamed mutterings
The North Wind Bites into his architrave
A daring baron pockets precious Mings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
It's no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
With gravity at gravity's great cog
The country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
With marble souvenirs then fill a slum
They're kings we're mammal-cousins hi ho hum