Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
For tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
The understanding critic firstly sees
That suede ferments is not at all well known
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
Th'outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
To break a rule Britannia's might might waive
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
Shallots and sharks'fins face the smould'ring log
On wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
On fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum