Classic Poem

Here's a good piece of cheese (I perhaps might have kept it)
But I hope the Archdeacon will kindly accept it
Nor suppose I deem wanting in bara a chaws—
A chroesaw—the Cloisters, a liberal house.
To remain in my larder it's rather too nice
For a part has already been eaten by mice.
So my worthy Archdeacon (I once more repeat it)
You will do me a kindness to help me to eat it.
It's moist and it's mild, and without too much boasting
I think it's a capital cheese for toasting.
It's not much decayed, nor strong in its savour:
Though for some it is rather too flat in its flavour.
And because it's too weak for to please every palate,
It perhaps may suit better when eaten with salad.
When cold or when toasted its taste is so mild
It will please the most delicate lady or child.
It will do when you dine, or perchance when you sup,
With a dainty swig of your Warden's cup.
Or else for a change, if you're in the habit
To eat of the same, it will make a Welsh rarebit.
When dining on mutton, and pastry, and fish,
It will make macaroni—a very good dish.
And should any remain when your appetite's sated,
With that let your mouse-traps be properly baited.
To conclude, and no longer continue this rhyme
Or I fear I might trespass too long on your time,
These poor silly lines, Sir, I beg you'll excuse,
And accept the respects of your curate, T. Hughes.

Here's a good piece of cheese (I perhaps might have kept it)
But I hope the Archdeacon will kindly accept it
Nor suppose I deem wanting in bara a chaws—
A chroesaw—the Cloisters, a liberal house.
To remain in my larder it's rather too nice
For a part has already been eaten by mice.
So my worthy Archdeacon (I once more repeat it)
You will do me a kindness to help me to eat it.
It's moist and it's mild, and without too much boasting
I think it's a capital cheese for toasting.
It's not much decayed, nor strong in its savour:
Though for some it is rather too flat in its flavour.
And because it's too weak for to please every palate,
It perhaps may suit better when eaten with salad.
When cold or when toasted its taste is so mild
It will please the most delicate lady or child.
It will do when you dine, or perchance when you sup,
With a dainty swig of your Warden's cup.
Or else for a change, if you're in the habit
To eat of the same, it will make a Welsh rarebit.
When dining on mutton, and pastry, and fish,
It will make macaroni—a very good dish.
And should any remain when your appetite's sated,
With that let your mouse-traps be properly baited.
To conclude, and no longer continue this rhyme
Or I fear I might trespass too long on your time,
These poor silly lines, Sir, I beg you'll excuse,
And accept the respects of your curate, T. Hughes.