Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
The answer is they could be twins full-grown
His toga rumpled high above his knees
With cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
Old Galileo's Pisan offerings
Signalling gauchos very rarely shave
He's gone to London how the echo rings
The nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
In indian summers Englishmen drink grog
While homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
Do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
Fried grilled black pudding's still the world's best yum