1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3her native chauffeur waited in the breeze
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7an icicle of frozen marrow pings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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