1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2the answer is they could be twins full-grown
3he bent right down and well what did he seize
4’ere meanings new to ancient tribes are thrown
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
11from cool Parnassus down to wild Loch Ness
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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