Young micro-brewer John Macwhitter
sold Chateauneuf - a Dewpress Bitter;
and gave his wife, whose taste was sweet,
a cask or two of Chateauhuit.
The family were chuffed, you bet,
when friends called them ‘The Chateausept’.
“Such friends,” they said, “we shall not fleece −
five quid a quart for Chateausix.”
But pity rich old Uncle Frank:
the Spey in spate, his Chateaucinq
(his pets survived, long after that,
on jeely-pieces, Chateauquatre).
Cousins from Crépy-en-Valois
fell foul of full-strength Chateautrois.
A grand-niece then (mais sacré bleu!)
disgraced herself with Chateaudeux,
and then, unfazed (as fits a nun)
succumbed, serene. to Chateauun.
She was the very last Macwhitter
to plumb the depths of Dewpress Bitter.