Madame Eulalie’s Rare Plums

THERE was a young person at Jay’s
Who was seized by the Limerick craze.
Hope deferred made her skinny:
But she’s just won a guinea,
And now takes an out-size in stays.

A get-wealthy-quickly MP
Used to send in his weekly 6d
He would spend all his time
Hunting hard for a rhyme,
While his friends on the Terrace took tea.

There was a young man of Mark Lane
Who shot himself right through the brain.
On failing again,
And again, and again.
And again, and again, and again.

There was once a golfer who swore,
“I will find a rhyme to Skiddaw!”
He’s abandoned the links,
Smokes excessively, drinks,
And his handicap’s now eighty-four.

A Duchess was heard to exclaim,
“My powers of rhyming are tame:
My scansion is weak:
My ideas are to seek:
But I may get a prize on my name.”

A father in far County Down
Is the talk of the whole native town.
Absentmindedly, maybe,
He’s christened his baby
James Missing Line Limerick Brown.