1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum