1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
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
5O Parthenon you hold the charger’s strings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7th’outrageous Thames a troubled arrow slings
8the nicest kids for strickiest toffees crave
9The genealogist with field and fess
10a piercint wit would sprightliest horses flog
11poor Yorick comes to bury not address
12We’ll suffocate before the epilogue
13and let you off from your opinions glum
14for Europe’s glory while Fate’s harpies strum
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