1At snuff no Cornish sailorman would sneeze
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and loudly sang off-key without a tone
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6with sombre thoughts they grimly line the nave
7in salads all chew grubs before they’ve wings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9The fasting fakir doesn’t smell the less
10with gravity at gravity’s great cog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12Lobsters for sale must be our apologue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14the best of all things to an end must come
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