1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone

5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive

9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the colonel’s still escutcheoned in undress

12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum