1He bent right down to pick up his valise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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