Our bottoms are not purple. But imagine a mandrill Come like John Mandeville To report on this people.
He finds despisal of fur, 'Respect for the false, Hate of fleas And love of fire; While wowsers' narks In Sunday press Whom bishops bless Make snide remarks.
But our mandrill marvel Does not, like Lawrence, Call customs tyrants And draws no moral.
Is glad that some Are made of wood, Thinks 'dull the world If all were same.'
And looking at mitre And at blue pencil Laughter shakes his tonsil