1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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