1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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