The Spoonbill Generator

Give me back my luncheon-meat! [Apsley]

You ravisher, you fraud! [Surlaw]

Or leave the country by next week [Shipp]

Along with cousin Maud. [Apsley]

And what about my pickle-jar [Surlaw]

(The one I hid behind the stove)? [Apsley]

While swooning by the samovar [Surlaw]

That Hengist coloured mauve. [Apsley]

These malcontented overtures [Surlaw]

By Händel sternly played [Apsley]

Have made him search for other cures [Surlaw]

Than those by Time forbade. [Apsley]

And when, at last, we lay to rest [Surlaw]

The herring we have stewed [Apsley]

The Mottled Shrike of Budapest [Surlaw]

Shall do a dance that's rude. [Apsley]