1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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