This house holds rooms, one score and six,
That shelter a vast mob.
It lets lions lie down with the lambs,
Yet makes both shun the slob.

None now will nestle with nicks and nates,
While reams room near the rear.
Though you and I have separate rooms
Both our bottles brim with beer.

The king and queen can never mate
(Though hands and hearts hobnob)
Because their rooms are separate
If this jail does its job.

What house is this that rules thus
Forcing faith to fend with fear?
The answer to this riddle lies
With dead and dying here.