1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4that suede ferments is not at all well known
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13suits lisping Spanish tongues for whom say some
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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