1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8in purest cradels tha’s how they behave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13ventriloquists be blowed you strike me dumb
14the bell tolls fee-less fi-less fo-less fum
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