1The wild horse champs the Parthenon’s top frieze
2licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
3upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
4which neither time nor tide can long postpone
5The roundabout eats profits made on swings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7he’s gone to London how the echo rings
8victorious worms grind all into the grave
9Staunch pilgrims longest journeys can’t depress
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11while homeward thirsts to each quenched glass say yes
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14fried grilled black pudding’s still the world’s best yum
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