1The marble tomb gapes wide with jangling keys
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6rejecting ermine to become a knave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8Etruscan words which Greece and Rome engrave
9The peasants’s skirts on rainy days she’d tress
10one tongue will do to keep the verse agog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Whiskey will always wake an Irish bog
13though bretzels take the dols from board-room drum
14in cognac brandy is Bacardi rum?
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