1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2that horders of crooks felt they’d more right to own
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4while sharks to let’s say potted shrimps are prone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6when flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8that every verbal shock aims to deprave
9Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
10a bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
11watching manure and compost coalesce
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13on fish-slab whale nor seal has never swum
14a wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb
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