And did those feet in ancient mouths
Tread upon England's corns so green ?
And was the roasted lamb so good
Or England's pleasant pasties lean ?
And did the Counterpane Divine
Give warmth under the frosty skies ?
And was Jerusalem artichoke
Protected from those manic chills ?
Bring me my cow of burning gold:
Bring me my lariat and lyre
Bring me my pear: these spuds are old !
Bring me my postulates so dire !
I shall not crease from dental fright
Nor shall my bored sheep stray inland
'Till we have billed Jerusalem
For England's Queen Anne pheasant land.