1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown

5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7the learning linguist cameramaniac sings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9Poetic licence needs no strain or stress
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address

12One misses cricket hearth and croaking frog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum