I don't know why, Roger, but your contribution brings to mind the verse of Samuel Butler (the Victorian one) in 'The Way of All Flesh'.
The pious dogs of Saint Bernard go
To pull the people out of the snow
And round their necks is the cordial gin
Tied with a little bit of bob-bin
Butler says 'I tried to mend the last line but I found that I couldn't'. I may have misquoted. This is from memory.
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