1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone

5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave

9The genealogist with field and fess
10shallots and sharks’fins face the smould’ring log
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes

12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14and lessors’ dates have all too short a sum