1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5They both are right not untamed mutterings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13do bank clerks rule their abacus by thumb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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