1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9The genealogist with field and fess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum
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