1Prose took the minstrel’s verse without a squeeze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5The frisian Isles my friends are cherised things
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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