1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3old corned-beef’s rusty armour spreads disease
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5It’s one of many horrid happenings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7they both are right not unformed smatterings
8as sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
9Platonic Greece was not so talentless
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11on wheels the tourist follows hos hostess
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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