1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the bull’s horns ought to dry it like a bone
3the showman gargles fire and sword with ease
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12With breaking voice across the Alps they slog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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