1At five precisely out went La Marquise
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3the understanding critic firstly sees
4and empty cages show life’s bird has flown
5And yet ’twas he the beggar Fate just flings
6the North Wind Bites into his architrave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8thou homestead hillside woodland rock and cave
9When dried the terrapin can naught express
10in indian summers Englishmen drink grog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13the Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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