Alas Don Pumsey! He to meet his fate
Is gone, and with him Drip doth close its door.
Ye totty of old Whitehall, 'tis too late
Cleggover 'tis who now doth play Amor.
O mighty Tesco, mend thy wicked ways.
Thou regal Justin, tame thy imper'ious grin
Ye Andys of Cambod'num*, spend thy days
In penitence for every squalid sin.
E'en so thou Markup and thou "Skiddy" Marks.
Flog not your wares at prices foully high
Ye Budgens, Nisa, all ye sundry sharks.
Purvey not your corrupted victuals, aye.
Your grossest deeds, ye grocers, shame ye all
Gross not a groat of gains on Pumsey's fall.
Mourn not Don Pumsey! Nor the lady V
Who shaggeth yet the prickly Rose of Marks.
Shame! Pumsey Towers is now a B&B
And bastard drunken offspring roam the parks.
While many a worthy deed he did achieve
Like driving Lady Hutton from her post
And baiting Johnny Fingers**, by your leave
'Tis Pumsey's failings we recall the most.
So farewell, Pumsey, farewell all at Drip,
The Danahers and Rolfes do take their leave,
The Grocer once again a comic strip
Where pompous asses flatter to deceive.
And where is Pumsey? Fate hath had its way
A trolley boy at Aldi, lack-a-day!
*Cambod'num = Leeds. Obviously.** John Fingleton.