1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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