1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7the fertile mother changelings drops like kings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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