1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5How it suprised us pale grey underlings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12But I can understand you Brogher Gog
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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