1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
3his toga rumpled high above his knees
4with cherry-pips his cottage floor is sown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6that metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
7a daring baron pockets precious Mings
8to break a rule Britannia’s might might waive
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12Bard I adore your endless monologue
13with marble souvenirs then fill a slum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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