1Don Pedro from his shirt has washed the fleas
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4one gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The wolf devours both sheep and shepherdess
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11and played their mountain croquet jungle chess
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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