1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10what things we did we went the whole darned hog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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