1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2for tea cucumber sandwiches a scone
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
6filching the lolly country thrift helped save
7proud death quite il-le-gi-ti-mate-ly stings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10and starve the sniveling baby like a dog
11the country lane just thrives on farmyard mess
12Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
13where no one bothered how one warmed one’s bum
14they’re kings we’re mammal-cousins hi ho hum
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