You may the longer word, Paul, but I bet you can't find a poem with it in.

As in this (from memory) which I think may be by Edward Lear.

There once was a skinflint from Hitchin,
Had a cook, Mrs Casey of Cork.
There was nothing but crusts in the kitchen,
Whilst in the parlour was sherry and pork.
At last Mrs Casey, her pangs to assuage,
Having cut off his buttonses, curried the page.
So now whilst that skinflint eats sherry and pork
In the parlour adjacent to Hitchin,
To the tune, blithe and merry, of knife and of fork,
Anthropophagy reigns in the kitchen.